Push Me
by sss979
Summary: Some friendships are hard fought before they're won. WARNINGS: Wartime violence.  Also some particularly non-PC discussion about homosexuality.  Het and, depending on your definition, slash.
1. Prologue

Said I don't know if I've ever been good enough,

I'm a little bit rusty and I think my head is caving in.

And I don't know if I've ever been really loved

By a hand that's touched me.

And I feel like something's gonna give.

And I'm a little bit angry.

Well, this ain't over.

Not here.

Not while I still need you around.

You don't own me.

We might change it.

Yeah, we just might feel good.

I want to push you around,

Well, I will.

I want to push you down,

Well, I will.

I want to take you for granted,

I will.

-Matchbox 20, "Push"

**AUTHOR:** sss979 with special contributions from Dee, Quentillian, and Tiggertoo.  
**TITLE: **Push Me

**RATING:** R  
**SUMMARY:** Some friendships are hard fought before they're won.

**WARNINGS:** Wartime violence - some of it pretty graphic, some of it against women and children. Also some particularly non-PC discussion about homosexuality. Het and, depending on your definition, slash. (If you're one of the people who reads FOR slash, please see other warnings. Don't want anyone upset and flaming me.)

**A/N:** This is the third book in a series. You don't HAVE to read them in order, but be aware that it assumes some knowledge of characters previously introduced in Scars of War and Nature of Trust.

**PROLOGUE**

**1981**

"Face, watch! Face! Watch me!"

Face glanced up, away from his conversation with Jessica and toward her eleven-year-old son who was splashing in the water. "Watch!"

"I'm watching," he called out from the beach.

James took a breath, audible from fifteen feet away, and dove beneath the surface of the water. A moment later, his feet were flailing in the air. Then they fell again. Face waited for the boy to resurface before offering his congratulations. "Very nice, James."

"I can do it better! Watch!" Then he was gone again. This time, his sister grabbed his feet as soon as they came up. Flailing and splashing ensued, and Face smirked.

"They really like it when you come around," Jessica said softly. "It's all they've talked about for the past three days."

Sitting on the hard, wet sand, just at the point where the waves always reached, Face dug his toes into the cool ground. "Sorry it's been so long. Life's been really hectic lately."

"How so?"

He hesitated. Actually, if he was honest, life wasn't much more hectic now than it was any other time. Hannibal kept them running, one job to the next. They'd been to Mexico, Maine, Oregon, South Carolina, and South America in the last month – and that wasn't counting the three local jobs they'd taken. The only reason they weren't on another case right now – the north side, Nebraska, or Nicaragua, it didn't make much difference – was because BA had broken his hand on the jaw of a sex trade worker in Columbia who was prostituting eight-year-old girls. Hannibal had figured it was time to give them all a chance to cool off and ease down a bit. And he was right. They all needed a break. Badly.

"Hannibal's been on the jazz," Face answered simply and with a perfectly practiced smile. "No one rests until he's got it out of his system."

"Seems like that happens quite a lot."

Face sighed and took a drink from his can of Coke. She had no idea… "Yeah. It does."

She was quiet for a long moment, watching the children to make sure they didn't drown each other. They were certainly giving it their best effort. For several minutes, the silence was broken only by their playing, the occasional warning from Jessica, and the swishing of the waves.

Finally, she took in a deep, slow breath. "Cruiser called me today."

Face stopped mid-drink and turned to look at her. There was no indication that she was joking. "What did he want?"

"Doesn't matter," she said softly, finally cutting her eyes away. She was quiet for a few seconds, but Face didn't speak, letting her continue. If it didn't matter, why did she bring it up? "But he was asking about you."

That _did_ matter, and she knew it. Maybe she didn't know why, but she wasn't stupid. "What did you tell him?"

She shrugged, stretching her legs out in the sand. It bunched around her feet. "Actually, I was kind of surprised that he knew."

"Knew what?"

"About you coming around."

She leaned back as she reached into her pocket and grabbed her cigarettes. Without thought, he reached for his lighter. The flame was ready for her by the time she set the cigarette between her lips. "Thank you."

He clinked the lighter closed again, and waited. She had more to say, he was sure of it. But for now, it was just a waiting game.

"Heather! Come back in! You're getting too far out!"

Face looked out into the ocean, and watched as Heather waded closer to the shore.

"I don't exactly talk about you to everybody," Jessica finally continued. She paused, then corrected. "To anybody."

"Probably wise."

She turned to him suddenly, and met the stare that she'd been avoiding. "Can I ask you a question?"

He hesitated. He had a feeling he knew what this question was going to be, and he wasn't the least bit interested in having this conversation. "Sure."

"Why do I feel like I'm protecting you from him?"

Face paused, and frowned. "You don't have to protect me," he finally said. "If Cruiser has something to say to me, he's free to say it."

"What happened between you two, Face?" she asked pointedly. "And what the hell does it have to do with Murdock?"

Face's eyes narrowed. "How did Murdock come into this conversation?"

"He was asking about him, too."

Face stared at her for along moment, then finally looked away. "It doesn't matter," he said quietly. He kept his gaze away from her, and the children, as he took another drink and shifted uncomfortably. "It was a long, long time ago."


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE**

There was something different about him. Something more than the patches that identified him as 1st Air Cav – Army now, instead of Air Force. Cruiser was giving him shit about his transfer. That was to be expected. The pretty flyboy had finally seen the error of his ways. Half-drunk and joyful, Cruiser's teasing was tolerated, even welcomed.

Hannibal's reaction was muted, but they all knew he was happy to see Murdock again. After all, he was the one who'd flown eight thousand miles to extend a personal invitation for him to come back. BA looked more relieved than anything. One too many chopper pilots had failed to gain his confidence since Murdock had gone. Face, wary of the come-and-go pilots since long before, shared his sentiments. Their current AC, Warrant Officer Charles "Snap" Pelt, was good... but even he had qualms about some of the extractions he'd been called in for. It was only a matter of time before he caved on them. Face didn't trust him.

Everyone knew he felt that way. Everyone shared his concern, to some degree, even if they weren't waiting expectantly for the pilot to leave them stranded. It was an unpleasant feeling, to say the least. There was nothing worse than being on the ground, surrounded by the enemy, and not _knowing _that the extraction would be there soon, come hell or high water. Murdock had never missed an extraction, never let them down or questioned his orders – not even once. Face knew that. He remembered it. It held weight with him. Murdock wasn't come-and-go. He was come-and-stay.

That hadn't changed.

But something had. Face could see it in the pilot's eyes. Something deep and haunted resided there, and it had not been there before. Face knew the look. He'd seen it in the eyes of men pulled from the depths of hell on POW rescues. Men who would never be the same. Men who were scarred, almost beyond the point of recognition. Filled with painful memories. It was a look didn't belong in HM Murdock's eyes. Face didn't like it.

But in spite of the darkness, Murdock was smiling. "So I heard you took a swan dive out of a McGuire rig."

There was something else, too. Something Face could hear in his voice, but couldn't identify. Wild. Dangerous. Crazy. "Yeah, from about thirty feet up." Face took a drink from his beer, leaning back in his chair. "Three cracked ribs, a sprained ankle, and a concussion."

Murdock laughed. "Man, you're lucky to be _alive_!"

Face shrugged, impassive. Murdock was holding his gaze. It was long enough to study those eyes a little more thoroughly before Murdock looked away again. The man was definitely damaged. No surprise; six months as a POW would damage anyone. Face hadn't been in the camp half that long, and he knew he'd never be the same. Murdock had been even more changed. It was going to take some time to figure out just how changed.

Face lowered his eyes to his beer. "So what made you decide to come back?"

Murdock exchanged lingering glances with Hannibal, probably wondering how much he'd told them. It hadn't been much. Hannibal had gone to LA instead of Hawaii with the rest of them. They knew that. He'd found Murdock after only two days. They knew that, too. But Hannibal had been pretty tight-lipped about what had been said and how it had been received. Given the non-disclosure, Face was actually pretty surprised to see Murdock back here. He wouldn't have guessed that it had gone very well.

"Well…" Murdock hesitated, shifting a bit. Face read the body language. Uneasy. Murdock didn't want to talk about this. Interesting. "There ain't much back home anymore 'cept protestors and flower children." He paused and smiled. "Rather deal with the VC. At least you can _shoot_ them."

Face smiled. Cruiser laughed out loud. BA frowned. "It that bad?"

Murdock took a drink, buying himself a moment's pause. As he set the glass down again, he forced a tight smile and nodded. "It's pretty bad, yeah."

"Well, we're glad to have you back, Captain." Hannibal's smile was calm. Not fake, but lacking emotion nonetheless. Face wondered if he could see the change in Murdock's eyes, too. But if he could… would he ever have asked him to return? "How long until you're ready to fly for us?"

"Just as soon as you can get the paperwork sorted." Murdock chuckled at that. "They all looked at me like I was nuts when I started asking about you."

"For more reasons than one, I'm sure." Face grinned, hiding his insecurity.

Hannibal ignored him. "Where are you stationed?"

"LZ English."

"I'll get you before the next drop." Hannibal stood, finished with his drink, and extended a hand across the table. "Welcome back, Murdock."

Murdock beamed as he reached across and shook Hannibal's hand. "Good to be back, sir."

*X*X*X*

Face was alone in the team room, when Cruiser entered, freshly showered and all smiles. It didn't take him long to spot Face, lying on his back with his eyes closed, one foot crossed comfortably over the other. He might've thought the lieutenant was asleep if not for the fact that it was just after sundown. Cruiser knew for a fact that he'd slept 'til noon, and he could do it again tomorrow before they spent the afternoon in last minute drills and then hit the ground in Laos tomorrow night. There was no reason at all for him to be trying to sleep. Or feigning it.

"Hey man, you going out tonight?" Cruiser continued over to his own bunk. "Enjoy that last night of freedom?"

Face opened one eye and looked at him, but didn't move. "Maybe." His tone was pensive. Cruiser grinned as he rifled through the bag next to his bed for a comb. "What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing in particular. Celebrate Murdock's return. You know." He shrugged. He didn't care where they went, as long as they got out. Who knew if they'd be aliveto do it later?

Face didn't answer. Cruiser ran his comb through his hair a few times before glancing over his shoulder at him. Face had turned to his side, propping his head up on his bent elbow.

"He shouldn't be here, you know."

Cruiser stopped, and turned fully to face him. The tone was as emotionless as it was direct, and Face was watching him for a response. He answered carefully. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

Face watched him steadily, not flinching. Cruiser's gaze turned a bit more serious. "Face," he pulled his thoughts together, "look around you. Nobody belongs out here."

"I do." His tone was flat, emotionless. "You do." He shook his head slightly, as much as possible while resting it on his hand. "Murdock doesn't. He spent six months in a black hole, Cruiser. That thing in his eyes… I don't like it. How much more do you think it's going to take before he cracks? If he hasn't already."

Cruiser smiled a bit at that. At least it was concern and nothing else. Sometimes it was as hard to figure out Face's moods as it was to predict them. It irritated the hell out of Cruiser, but he'd learned ways of dealing with it. He just had to keep in mind that the kid was just that: a kid. He hadn't even hit twenty-years-old yet…

"Face, they don't just let you come back after something like that because you feel like it." He sat down on his bunk, looking at the lieutenant. "You know that."

Face's gaze was steady. "I do. And I also know they're desperate for officers here. His record is so fucking pretty, it sparkles. And he's smart enough to lie his way through a psych eval if he really wanted to."

Cruiser's gaze deepened at that. "Then he wouldn't be the only one."

Face glared briefly at him, and he smiled. It hadn't been meant as an insult.

"Face, you know the colonel wouldn't have signed him on again if he had any reservations. Do you trust Hannibal or not?"

Face lowered his eyes. "The fact that Hannibal signed him on is the only thing that gives me any measure of _comfort _in this entire thing."

Cruiser's smile grew. "So rest easy, man. He knows what he's doing."

"What if he didn't see it?" Face asked, eyes still down.

"Hannibal will see it."

"Will?" Face's tone was as serious as Cruiser's. The expression was as close to worry as Cruiser had ever seen on him. "When? When he goes down in flames?"

"I didn't mean to imply that you are right about this," Cruiser corrected. "Just that if something is off, Hannibal will see it. You know Hannibal stays on top of all of us; Murdock's no exception."

"Yeah? Well he wasn't on top of him when he was down on that pit." The worried look never left, but an irritated tone had crept into the lieutenant's voice. It sounded strange. Almost... panicked. Face sat up and looked Cruiser in the eye. "None of us were. And none of us know a damn thing about what happened to him."

"So what?"

"So _what_?" Face sounded appalled at the idea that it meant nothing. "I saw you _break_, Cruiser!"

Cruiser flinched, involuntarily, suddenly. The words were like a knife. Face must have realized it, because his voice dropped immediately, almost to a whisper and void of the frustrated anger. "And you saw me," he continued quietly. "And Hannibal saw all of it. But nobody saw Murdock. And nobody's been watching him, either, to see if he can pull it together. And he's going to fly us into a combat zone. Doesn't that fucking scare the piss out of you?"

Cruiser sighed, and let the words roll off him. "Face, you ever stop to think that _that _might be precisely the point?"

"What is?"

"We weren't there for him when it happened. And maybe he needs us to get him back." He shook his head slightly. "And you're right, we don'tknow. But even _if_, and that's a very big 'if', Murdock did crack… I would still stake my life on him as a pilot any day of the week."

Face looked away, muttering under his breath. "So would I, but that's because I don't trust any of them. And that's not the point." He looked back up at Cruiser again, and opened his mouth to speak. But instead, he hesitated for a long moment. Cruiser waited. The look in the young lieutenant's eyes was strange, unidentifiable as he continued. "We couldn't have done anything."

Cruiser stared, not really following point A to B in this conversation. "No, we couldn't have. What's your point?"

Face's jaw tightened noticeably. "And we can't do anything now. It's not our fucking job to put him back together!"

Cruiser's eyes widened slightly, involuntarily. "Wow, man." He laughed tightly, shaking his head. "You're outta line there."

Face rose to his feet and spun, pacing away from Cruiser with that irritated anger he'd never quite learned to control. "What the fuck am I supposed to do about it, huh? You think he's fine? Hannibal thinks he's fine? Well, I don't. And I am not –" He cut off as he spun back around and glared hard at Cruiser. "You think I don't _realize _that...?"

Too much emotion. Mixed emotion - hurt and confusion and worry and anger. He couldn't even make it come out right. The way he was pacing, Cruiser wasn't sure if he was going to scream at him or break down and sob. He hoped to God it wasn't the latter. He couldn't fucking handle that.

Luckily, Face was stone cold sober and had a grip on his control. He shut his eyes, clenched his jaw, and looked away, turning to lean forward on the bunk above his. "I don't want to see him, Cruiser," he hissed through his teeth. "And maybe that is fucking wrong of me, but I can't change it."

Cruiser sighed. "Face, I don't know what to tell you. But Murdock isn't going away, so you're gonna have to figure something out."

Face turned, and slid down the post that held the bunks together until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He grabbed his cigarettes, tapped one into his hand, and said nothing as he lit it. He put his head back on the pole as he breathed in deeply, then out, regaining his composure.

"How do you do it, Cruiser?" His voice was cold and void of emotion.

Too many possibilities with that. Cruiser didn't want to play twenty questions. "Do what?"

Face sighed, and turned his head to look at Cruiser almost lazily. The emotion was gone from his eyes; they were empty. "You just... act like nothing ever happened." He paused for a moment and lowered his voice. "Don't those scars on your back still burn?"

Cruiser dodged the hard stare, uncomfortable all of a sudden. Damn it, how did that kid know just what buttons to push to make him tense up? He didn't want to go here, have this conversation. And he wasn't going to. This was Face's problem, not his.

He stood up and turned his back to Face. "I don't do this." He could hear the hard edge in his voice, and he hoped Face would take the hint.

Face had the same edge. "I don't do this either, damn it! That's the fucking _point_!" Cruiser could feel Face's eyes burning into him. "I fucking look at him and I remember it! _All _of it."

"Stop," Cruiser warned.

Face didn't stop. "Because he _wasn't _there. And he doesn't know. He has no fucking idea, and I don't know what happened to him!"

"God damn it, _stop_!" Cruiser spun back to him. His hands were shaking, but he wasn't sure if it was out of anger at being ignored, or the memories Face's words elicited, or something else entirely. "What do you want, huh? I don't have a fucking answer for you!"

Face stood, and took two steps toward Cruiser before he stopped. He was out of range, but clearly it was a threatening posture. Face wasn't backing down. He wasn't stopping.

"You don't have to have an answer," he growled. "But don't you _fucking_ dare sit there and tell me that everything's okay!"

Cruiser stayed where he was. Enough. He'd had enough of this. "Face, you can do whatever the hell you want with," he threw his hands around the air, "whatever the hell this is. But you are on your own. Got it?"

"No," Face said tightly, staring him down. "Cruiser, I'm not. Because I'm not the only one with something to hide."

Cruiser turned towards the door, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Jesus, Face."

"You know how Murdock is," Face continued. "You know he wants to feel like part of the team. He's not like the other pilots. Not like Snap." He paused, but not long enough to give Cruiser a chance to interject. "What are you gonna do if he _is_ as damaged as that look in his eyes says he is? And he brings that to this team. You gonna figure something out? Maybe play camp counselor for him?"

Cruiser stopped and looked back at Face with a glare. "Sounds like you're the one who needs the counselor. And it's _not _gonna be me."

Face's eyes narrowed into slits at the perceived attack. "Me?" he threatened, low and dangerous. "I'm not the one they _fucked_ in front of my entire team. How long do you think before Murdock figures that one out?"

Face realized very suddenly what he had just said. He realized it at about the same time that he hit the wall, hard enough to knock the breath right out of his lungs. Cruiser had him by the shirt with both fists, his eyes black with fury. Face's head bounced off the plywood.

"I'm sorry!" he said quickly. He lowered his eyes, turned his head away, and made no effort to break Cruiser's grip. He kept his head lowered submissively as he continued in a whisper. "Jesus, I'm so sorry."

Cruiser held him against the wall, his knuckles white with tension as he stared him down. Face didn't look up, didn't meet the challenge. Finally, Cruiser released him, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble. "You are your _own_ with this," Cruiser growled. "Got it?"

Face kept his eyes lowered, saying nothing as Cruiser spun and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The door was closed before Face realized he wasn't breathing. Finally, his lungs were screaming. He drew in a deep breath as he slid down the wall to the floor, holding his head in his hands. Fuck. What had he just done?


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

The bar had been Cruiser's initial destination for the night. But not like this. It was supposed to be fun, a night on the town, a few drinks, a few women… At the moment, the only thing on his mind was drinking as much as he could possibly consume before he passed out.

"Vodka. Straight up." His tone was absent of emotion.

The bartender left the bottle. He must have seen that Cruiser was going to need it.

It was a good twenty minutes of hard drinking – shot after shot so fast that his stomach didn't have a chance to react. Then there was a man standing beside him. "Hey, what happened?"

Familiar man. Familiar voice. Fucking hell, he didn't want to deal with familiar people. He was already dizzy, but he wasn't drunk enough for dealing with familiar people. He wanted to be left alone.

"I thought you were going to grab Face and then the next thing I know, you're gone."

Cruiser looked to the side slowly, carefully. Murdock was waving to the bartender as he took a seat. Damn it. Cruiser was not in the mood. The light, carefree tone was grating on him already.

"Nothing happened."

Murdock studied him for a moment, brows raised. "Well, it can't be _really_ nothing or else you'd still be at the base so it's gotta be the 'I don't wanna talk about it' nothing."

Cruiser turned back to the bar. _Damn it, go away!_

Murdock wasn't going away. "So that's okay. I can hang with that."

Cruiser put his head in his hand. Headache. Misery.

"Can I just get a coke?"

Eyes on him. Murdock was watching as he poured another shot, tossed it back. Let him watch. Let him sit there. Another shot. He wasn't going away. Fuck, it wasn't his fault. Not Murdock's fault. He couldn't just ignore him, damn it.

"Sorry, Murdock. Not what I had in mind for the night." The words were slurred, but he was pretty sure he managed to get them out in the right order.

"It's okay." The bartender brought Murdock's coke. "Face is alright though, isn't he?" He paused briefly. "I know I haven't been back long but he seems kind of... quiet. And weird."

Cruiser grabbed the bottle, and didn't bother with the glass anymore. "Face is fine." His tone didn't invite any follow up questions on the subject. He was sure of it.

Watching him. Murdock just watched for a long moment. "You're not." It was still light - almost casual. But the man was clearly prying.

"Murdock!" The warning was clear as Cruiser spun towards him. He took a swig off the bottle, feeling the alcohol in full force now. "Leave it alone."

Murdock smiled. It was as if he didn't even hear the warning. Was he deaf? Was Cruiser failing to communicate? He'd never had that problem before. "Oh, come on. What's eatin' you? You can tell me. I ain't even been _around _for six months, man, so I know it's not my fault."

Cruiser took a deep breath. His patience was wearing thin. "I said leaveit _alone_, man. Doesn't anybody fucking listen anymore?"

He stood up and immediately realized he was too drunk to walk. Murdock was beside him as he stumbled, dizzy.

"Damn, Cruiser, how much have you had to drink?"

Hand on his shoulder. Cruiser growled, and held the bar for balance as he shoved Murdock's hand away. "Back off, flyboy!" he growled. Murdock jumped back, startled, and Cruiser followed him. He stepped in close, aggressive, defensive. "Do _not _fucking touch me!"

Murdock raised his hands in surrender. "Woah, man, sorry..." His eyes were wide, surprised. "Sorry, I was just trying to..." His brow furrowed as he trailed off, hands still raised. "Are you... okay?"

"I'm fine!"

Cruiser took in a deep breath. Fuck, this wasn't Murdock's fucking fault. And now that the light, happy tone had dropped from the pilot's voice, he sounded genuinely concerned. Cruiser reached a hand to rub the headache away.

"Just. Fuck. Man." Cruiser trailed off. He couldn't form a full sentence anymore. He sat back down. Walking wasn't going to work out too well. He embraced it; why fight it? He took another swig off of the bottle.

Murdock offered a cigarette. Cruiser stared at it for a long moment before he took it. His grip on the lighter faltered, but he ultimately managed to get it lit. Deep breath. He shut his eyes. Damn, that felt good. Somewhere else. Somewhere far away from coherent thought. From pain. From memories. From reality. His head swam. He was glad.

"You know, I never thought I'd say this." Murdock was talking again. "But it feels _really_ good to be back. Like coming home. Is that crazy or what?"

Cruiser eyed him warily. It was like watching a distorted image on a TV screen. But if he could just get the pilot to shut up, he'd be doing pretty good tonight. "Murdock." He took a deep breath, tried to focus enough to form a cohesive sentence. "Take a fucking hint man."

Murdock smiled. Cruiser groaned inside. Definitely _not_ the hoped-for response. Cruiser gave another shot at clarifying. "This -" He lost the thought for a second, and it took a minute to bring it back around. "This _bonding _thing, ain't gonna fucking happen."

"Sure it will, Cruiser." Oh, God damn it. He was _not _getting it. "I ain't goin' nowhere. It'll happen on its own, eventually. You know, it's funny. This team is more like family than most _families _are." He chuckled.

"What fucked up family structure do you come from?" Cruiser sneered into the bottle, talking to it more than to Murdock. Another drink. He couldn't even taste it anymore.

Murdock chuckled. "Oh, my family was plenty fucked up. What about you? You never talk about your family. Got any brothers and sisters?"

The hairs on the back of Cruiser's neck bristled with irritation. "Fuck man." He turned to Murdock. "It wasn't a question. I don't want to hear about your fucking family structure. And I sure as hell am not _sharing_." He shook his head. "You just don't get it do you?"

Murdock smiled - almost knowing, definitely mischievous. "Come on, man, it's just a question. I have a brother, you know. Talk to him all the time." His eyes danced. "Bet you didn't know that..."

"No." Cruiser tried to focus his eyes as he shook his head. But it was all he could do not to fall over. "What you don't get is I don't fucking _want_ to know that."

He stood up. No balance. Murdock's hand was on him again.

Cruiser reacted without thought. Memories were fresh with the alcohol. As soon as the hand touched him, he swung. Blindly. Too much raw emotion to be deadly and too much alcohol to be accurate, but he made contact. He'd thrown his whole body into it, and he lost his footing. Fighting to stay on his feet, stumbling through barstools… He finally caught the edge of a table as he completely lost his balance and wound up on his back on the floor.

Drunken laughter. Unfamiliar men. There was a hand on his shoulder, and one reaching under his arm, grabbing him above the elbow. Panic. Fury. Mixed emotion was lost in a red blur. His eyes wouldn't focus anymore. Memories – long dead and now resurrected. This was what hell felt like. He had to be in hell.

He fought the hands off of him blindly, swinging at anything, not caring what he hit. People, furniture, he hit anything in his reach. Trying to get his feet under him, he only wound up falling again.

Then the man leaning over him was gone. Glass shattered. "Back the _fuck_ off!"

Cruiser stayed on the floor for a moment, calming his breathing, his racing heartbeat. Finally, he focused his eyes enough to see clearly. Face was standing over him, fist pulled back. Murdock was leaning back on the bar, startled. Another man, unfamiliar, was still crouched next to Cruiser, but not touching him.

"I said back up! Now!"

Face. Fucker… Come in here and look like the fucking hero. Bull-fucking-shit. The man stood and moved away. Face looked around, then held a hand down to Cruiser.

Cruiser growled audibly. "Go fuck yourself."

Face's eyes lowered to him. His gaze calm, steady, intent. He didn't move, just held his hand out. Cruiser laughed bitterly at the gesture. He would've spit on him if he thought he could manage it. Ignoring the hand, he pushed himself up. Legs weren't talking to feet. He swayed too much and grabbed for something _other _than the man in front of him. Face's foot on the bar stool he found kept it from tipping over.

Cruiser steadied himself, and locked gazes with Face. Memories in those eyes. Fucking bastard. Cruiser did _not _do this. Face didn't speak. Didn't move. As Murdock stood up straight again, Face's eyes flashed to him. But the pilot didn't come close. He was just watching, bewildered.

With one final growl, Cruiser focused his attention on the doorway. He took a deep breath and concentrated hard on putting one foot in front of the other until he was out of the bar. He didn't look back, although he knew in the back of his mind that Face would be behind him, making sure he made it somewhere safe before he passed out.

*X*X*X*

Camp Alpha was just outside of Saigon, and not nearly as fortified as the camps that were positioned out in the middle of the jungle. It didn't really need to be, given its location. There were so many reinforcements within a five minute response time, nobody would be stupid enough to try a large scale attack.

It was hard for BA to feel too terribly threatened here - especially with the weight of the rifle across his lap again. They weren't allowed to carry weapons inside of Saigon. He still did... but a pistol strapped to his leg was not the same as a CAR-15 on his shoulder. Hunched over the table in a far corner of the commo bunker - far from where the radio operators were stationed - he had bits and pieces of a radio disassembled on the table in front of him.

"BA? Can I ask you a question?"

He glanced up quickly, startled by the intrusion. He hadn't even noticed Murdock's approach. With one hand, the pilot snagged the nearby chair and spun it around, straddling it.

"Ain't you supposed to be goin' back to LZ English?"

Murdock shrugged. "I'll be there before morning. That's all my CO cares about. Besides, once Hannibal talks to him, he won't be my CO any more." He grinned widely. "So who cares?"

"Right." BA went back to the wires. He didn't want to lose his place with the ones he was working on, and the light from the rickety lamp was not the best.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Murdock pull his cap from his head and run his hand across his forehead. "Man, it's hot."

BA sympathized. It was wrong for any place to be this hot, this late at night. Didn't mean he wanted to talk about it, though.

"Hey, BA? What's up with Face and Cruiser?"

BA frowned deeply, and adjusted the light before going back to work on the one stripped wire, trying to twist the two pieces back together. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Well, we were all going to go to town tonight. You know have a few drinks ? Cruiser was supposed to go get Face but then he never showed up. I found him at a bar partying without either of us. 'Cept he didn't look like he was havin' too much fun."

"Sounds like they had a fight. Those two always fighting. Either that or they gettin' in trouble. Dunno which one worse."

He couldn't even begin to guess what it was they were fighting about. Face and Cruiser seemed to have a kind of a love-hate relationship that BA had never really been able to wrap his head around. Half the time they were in some cheap hotel - or worse, a brothel - with a couple women in the same bed (BA knew this from the unfortunate occasion of having to go get them from those brothels) and half the time they were yelling at each other. But whatever yelling it was, they usually got over it pretty quick. Neither one of them ever seemed to hold a grudge for very long.

"Prob'ly the gettin' in trouble is worse. They usually get over the fightin' pretty quick."

Murdock sighed deeply. "Face was already acting weird earlier this evening." Murdock was fidgeting, tapping his fingers against the back of the chair. "And Cruiser… I don't know what was up with him but he was… wrong."

"Wrong how?" BA cast him a quick, questioning look.

Murdock blew out a breath. "I dunno. Disoriented? Not just drunk; I've seen him drunker. Panicked." The tempo of his fingers on the chair back increased. "He threw a punch at me. Not much of one, but yeah. An' he went nuts when I tried to help him up 'cause he fell right on his ass when he didn't hit me."

BA frowned deeply, and turned his attention away from the radio and fully onto Murdock. "What'd you say to him, made him wanna punch you?"

"_Moi_?" Murdock raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say nothin'. Just trying to make small talk. Find out what's been going on the last six months while I been on vacation." He smirked.

BA stared at him. It didn't make sense. It took more than that to start a man swinging. Even Cruiser. Even when he was looking for a fight. "You musta done somethin' to him. He say anything to you when he tried to hit you?"

Murdock's brow creased as he thought back over the conversation. "No, he was just… irritable. An' all I did was try to keep him from busting his skull open on a table."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Well, like I said, he was drunk and he fell. I tried to help him up. He lost it."

BA stared for a long moment, listening to the words, processing them. He'd seen Cruiser get like that before. He didn't like it. It made him violent and unpredictable and irrational. If he'd been drinking on top of that, it probably didn't help.

"He's prob'ly just drunk," BA said, as dismissively as he could manage. It was a lie. Cruiser was more than "just drunk" when he acted like that. There was this weird sort of darkness inside of Cruiser - one that hadn't been there before. It was the same darkness that was in all of them now. But Cruiser... He had it different. Had it worse. And it was better all the way around if Murdock just didn't poke around in the dark.

"Face turned up right about then but Cruiser wanted nothing to do with him either," Murdock recapped, lost in thought. "He wouldn't even let anyone help him up. Just told Face to fuck off and left."

"They just fightin'. Stay out of it." There was a hard tone to his voice now. Not a suggestion - more like an order.

Murdock hesitated for a moment. "Ya know, Cruiser looks almost like I did about a month ago."

BA glared at him. He wasn't sure what the tactic was being used here, but he could tell - whether by the tone or the look in his eye - that Murdock wasn't simply letting the conversation lie. "So?" The less he said, the less Murdock could trap him on. He'd been playing this game too long with Face to get sucked into that one.

Murdock shrugged. "Just an observation, big guy. Cruiser looks like a man in a world of hurt. I've been there. Being here hurts less than being back in the States but…"

BA eyed him for a moment, then looked back down at the radio. "Cruiser don't need your help. Not on this. Just leave him alone, man. Or you gonna wind up hurt."

"There's all kinds of hurt out there BA," Murdock answered. "What kind are you talking about 'cause I don't think I've ever seen a man hurting like Cruiser was tonight."

BA looked up at him and glared. He was pushing too far. It was beginning to grate on BA's nerves. "I mean he gonna pound you, or wring your fool neck!" he snapped. "Just leave him alone, Murdock. You don't wanna push Cruiser's buttons. Even I don't wanna do that. It ain't worth it."

Murdock's eyebrows disappeared under his cap. "Since when are you afraid of Cruiser? You gotta have at least fifty pounds on him."

"I ain't said I afraid of him. I said it ain't worth it to fight with him. An' it ain't."

"Did something happen on a recon?"

"What?" BA asked, confused.

"Did a recon go badly? Is that what has Cruiser and Face so wound up?"

BA growled audibly. "Murdock, if you don't stop talkin' _I'm _gonna wring your fool neck!"

"Is it about the camp?"

BA was up out of the chair so fast, it fell over backwards and clattered on the ground as it folded in on itself. He reached down with both fists, grabbed the front of Murdock's fatigues, and lifted him up - right up off the ground. "I _said _leave it alone!"

Murdock grabbed the BA's wrists. "Okay okay okay! I give up! I'll drop it! Now put me down before these guys call the MPs or something."

The other men were already starting to stare. BA set Murdock down, eyeing him distrustfully. "You better mean that, Murdock," he said seriously. "Lotta stuff changed now. Lotta stuff we don't talk about. When someone say don't talk about it, then don't."

Murdock brushed at the front of his fatigues to straighten them again, then raised his hands in the "surrender" position. "You win. We don't talk about that stuff. Not a problem . I can respect that."

"Good."

Murdock smiled as he sat back down, and BA watched him for a long moment before he turned his attention back to the radio on the workbench.

"So," Murdock finally said with a smile, "how about them Cubbies?"


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

There were worse places to be than Da Nang's CCN compound, surrounded by other SF soldiers on stand down. Hannibal's team wasn't exactly on stand-down. They were actually on their way to FOB-2, the recon team post west of Da Nang. It had been three days since Westman had flown back to the States for a meeting with Pentagon officials. Until he returned, they had no specific assignments. His temporary stand-in didn't even know about Hannibal's team, much less what to do with them.

With nothing else to do, Hannibal had nevertheless been unable to sit still. They'd taken two more days in Saigon, then headed for CCN where they waited for Murdock's transfer. When it wasn't cleared up in three days, Hannibal paid a visit to LZ English. All the necessary paperwork was signed and delivered within twenty-four hours. Hannibal was good at making people jump. It was a talent.

He was also good at staying active. If they weren't doing anything else, they might as well pull a recon patrol or two. Face didn't entirely understand this reasoning. However routine such an assignment might be, soldiers did die out there. Frequently, even. Entire teams went MIA, sometimes only minutes after insertion. He was pretty sure that the general didn't want to come back and find out that his team had been wiped out on a routine mission they hadn't even been ordered to take.

Trying to explain the irony in Hannibal's restless searching for something to do – Face would've found it hilarious if not for the whole "death" thing – was not enough to convince him that it wasn't a good idea. He needed the action, the excitement. He also needed permission – which was why they were stuck at CCN until one of the camp commanders at an FOB replied to his request.

Give it another day or two, and he'd probably be paying them a visit too.

Being stuck here wasn't a bad thing. It was a four hundred by six hundred foot rectangular camp that was almost like a resort except for the barbed wire and twenty-foot guard towers at each corner. The camp backed up to the beach of Da Nang Bay - which was not the most sanitary place to swim, but that didn't stop any of them. Safely surrounded by American bases, and with a big PX down the road, it was a nice place hang out for a few days. The NCO club was even air conditioned – a luxury that few places afforded.

"Marines say there's VC around here," Cruiser informed as he changed into a pair of shorts, leaving the sweat-soaked fatigues on the floor.

Face, lying on his stomach with his arms under his head, didn't bother to open his eyes. "There's VC everywhere," he reminded. Nevertheless, he checked once more to make sure that the pistol under his pillow was easily accessible.

"I'd like to talk to that security patrol when they come back," Cruiser mumbled under his breath.

Face barely heard him. "You're welcome to wait up. They'll probably be in just before dawn."

Cruiser considered it. But he was tired. Perhaps not as tired as Murdock, who'd fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Cruiser watched him for a moment, then glanced at the two empty bunks on the other side. "Where's BA and Hannibal?"

"Club," Face slurred. "There's some kind of going away party for a guy about to DEROS. They both knew him."

"Didn't the club close at midnight?"

"What time is it now?"

"Almost one."

"Go to sleep, Cruiser. It's one o'clock in the freakin' morning."

"Right."

It was the last Face heard from him. Slipping his arms under the pillow, Face let his hand rest against the barrel of the Browning 9mm, the metal quickly warming against his skin. It was the last thing he was aware of as he drifted off to sleep.

Explosion. Face's eyes opened and his grip tightened on the weapon in his hand, but relaxed again just as quickly. If anyone was going to attack here, they'd have a lot of barriers to get through first. They were surrounded by American camps. One of them was probably firing illumination. The mortar fire hadn't seemed terribly close. He closed his eyes again.

The sudden sound of AK fire made him sit up so fast he almost hit his head on the bunk above him. "What the hell?"

In the next instant, Murdock dropped to the floor, crouched beside him and holding his pistol. "That's inside the camp!"

"Cruiser!" Face hissed as he stood and walked to the screened window, carefully peering out. Three feet away was a Vietnamese man in only khaki shorts, his body glistening with grease and a satchel charge in his hand. Face responded instantly and without thought – putting a single bullet through his head.

Instantly, there was another enemy in the doorway, firing wildly into the room with his AK-47. "Get down!" he heard Murdock yell. Face fell back, rolling under the bed at the same time that he fired five shots at the door, hitting the man in the shoulder. He stopped firing, and fell back – away from the door.

"Anyone hit?" Face asked, still covering the door.

"I'm good," Murdock called back.

"Same here," Cruiser answered, fully awake. "Where's Hannibal and BA? They never came back?"

"We gotta find them."

Face crawled out from under the bed, keeping his gun pointed at the door as he went for the CAR-15 under his bed. It was already loaded, but Face checked it anyway while he had a few seconds, and grabbed another clip for the 9 mil from under his mattress. Wearing only a pair of shorts, Face threw his holster over his shoulders and shoved the gun inside.

"Grenade!"

Face grabbed the mattress and pulled it over him as the explosion hit. The force of it took out the flimsy wall and put him – with the mattress – through it. Half-dressed and torn by grenade fragments, still lying beneath the mattress, he shook his head to clear it. He was on the dirt, and he'd lost his grip on the CAR-15. Just as importantly, the building behind him was in flames.

In the light of the burning buildings, he saw nothing but chaos and carnage. Bodies of NVA and Americans alike lay dead and dying, scattered everywhere. The shadows were moving – sappers running everywhere between the corrugated tin buildings. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Face reached for the pistol strapped to his side. His eyes locked on one of the sappers, whirling a long cord over his head to arm the RPG he was getting ready to throw. A single shot to the head and he fell.

Face crawled out from under the mattress, staying low to the ground as he made it back to the hootch. "Cruiser! Murdock!"

"Here!" Murdock coughed.

Face turned, and crawled to him. "You hit?" he demanded.

Murdock shook his head, but Face saw that he was bleeding from his leg. "I'm fine."

"Where's Cruiser?"

"He went back in. For the guns."

"Hey!"

Face looked up at the sound of Cruiser's voice, just in time to see him drop down through the hole in the wall and land in a crouch in the sand. He shoved an M-16 at Face, and passed one over to Murdock. "Just remember, if you fire, they're gonna fire back."

Face looked around. His eyes came to rest on a Jeep about ten yards away, parked against one of the dark buildings. "Cruiser, they'll need you in the dispensary," he said quickly. "Get to that Jeep. Murdock, go with him. Cover him."

"Right." Murdock moved instantly.

"Pick up any men you can along the way."

"Where you going?" Cruiser asked.

Face held his gaze for just a moment. "I gotta find Hannibal and BA."

Cruiser nodded, and clapped his shoulder before starting for the jeep at a low run.

Where was the rest of the team? They couldn't be at the officer's club – it would be closed. They wouldn't be at the TOC – they had no mission. The communications bunker? Face was sure they wouldn't have left the base without letting the rest of them know. He had to find them, if that meant crawling on his hands and knees from one end of this camp to the other.

Face headed for the commo building by way of the mess hall. That was where he found them both, and three other men who'd dug in. "Glad you could join us, Face," Hannibal greeted as Face threw his back to the wall beside where Hannibal was positioned by the window. "How's Cruiser and Murdock?" From his calm tone, he might have just as easily been asking about the weather.

"Alive when I left them." He craned his neck to peer out the window carefully. "What's going on over there?"

"There's a bunch of VC pinned down by the TOC," BA informed, between rounds.

Face did a double take on the weapon in BA's hands. It was an AK-47, covered in blood. He must have taken it from one of the sappers. Hopefully, he knew he'd better be careful with it. The distinctive sound of the sappers' guns was all that distinguished them from the friendlies – both were half-dressed and it was awfully dark.

"Shit, what is this idiot doing?" one of the unfamiliar men muttered.

Face looked again. In the shifting shadows from the fires, he watched a light-haired American wave at the sappers and call out in surrender. "He's looking to get himself shot is what he's doing," Hannibal answered.

Sure enough, it took only seconds for the sappers to shoot him dead. Face watched him fall, and shook his head at the naivety that had cost him his life. Then he turned to Hannibal. "We got a plan? Or are we just gonna stand here and shoot it out with them all night?"

They wouldn't get far shooting it out. The sappers had taken shelter behind the sandbags that protected the TOC. Their own security measures - to protect their critical operations center - had been turned against them.

"Any men still alive in the TOC?" Face questioned. The single entrance to the building was always guarded, and he saw no guards. They would've gone inside the shelter of the three-feet-thick cement walls.

"If there are, they prob'ly wounded," BA answered. "Sappers pushed out the air conditioner. Threw grenades in there."

Hannibal turned his head. "BA? How far can you throw a grenade? Could you hit the TOC?"

One of the other men raised a brow. "You're going to throw grenades at the TOC?"

BA gauged the distance. Forty yards, more or less. He nodded to Hannibal. "I could make it."

No sooner had he answered than an AK round cracked through the window and hit the M-16 of the man furthest left. He cried out as the second automatic round hit his arm, shattering it right along with the gun. The enemy had spotted them, and suddenly the sky rained bullets.

"Face get on the other side," Hannibal ordered, gesturing for him to move. Low to the floor, he crawled past Hannibal, the two men still uninjured, and BA.

"How many grenades do we have?" Hannibal demanded.

"Two," BA answered quickly.

"Two more."

"Three more."

Face didn't even have pants, much less grenades. As he knelt next to the bleeding figure, he looked around the room, but there were no grenades in the mess hall. "That's seven," Hannibal counted. "And I've got three."

"Hang in there," Face said quietly, holding eye contact with the bleeding man, whose teeth were gritted hard against the pain. "We'll be back."

The man nodded, his body rigid and still. Face took the grenades from his belt. "Three more," he offered with a quick glance at Hannibal.

"Face, cover," Hannibal ordered. "You two pull pins. Let's go!"

At his command, Face immediately turned and sprayed fire back at the men poking over the top of the sandbag wall. With two men to pull pins and hand grenades, BA let each one simmer for about two seconds before lobbing them expertly across the open area. Each one exploded right over the heads of the sappers. Ten feet overhead, then five as he refined his aim and timing, then right over top of them. At least half of them must have been killed. The others fell back.

"Move in!" Hannibal yelled.

Still focused on the TOC but sweeping all directions in search of any sappers who would shoot at them as they crossed, Face fired in quick bursts and walked with steady steps, in perfect time with Hannibal. The synchronization was effortless. All around them, AKs, CAR-15s, and M-16s fired intermittently. To the left, a muzzle flare caught Face's eye and he turned his gun as fast as he turned his head. The two shots in their direction didn't hit. His did, and the sapper fell.

Recapturing the TOC took only minutes. It was harder to get the thick door open. Hannibal pounded on it as the other four stood guard, weapons ready for anyone who shot in their direction. Several minutes later, the bolt finally unlatched and the Lieutenant Colonel CCN commander peered out to see who was yelling in English. Once he was convinced that the men outside were not in duress – telling him to open the door so that the VC could come in – he let them inside and the door shut behind them. Face locked it and followed at the back of the line into the room.

The men inside were all wounded – two of them badly. One was dead. The commander was a little shaky as he recounted the grenades that had killed him instantly. "Go get our man from the commo bunker," Hannibal ordered the two unfamiliar soldiers that had crossed the street with them. "Bring him here, and stay here with the injured until it's safe. BA, Face, you come with me. We're going to walk the perimeter."

Dead soldiers were scattered around the camp – Vietnamese and American alike. The sun, still low on the horizon, reflected off of the ocean and lit the camp as soon as it broke the barrier. In the morning haze, it was easier to see than in the dead of night. Robbed of the darkness, the sappers who were still alive retreated into the jungle, back through the cut wires that they'd squeezed through to get in. Hannibal shot two of them on the way out – wounding both only enough to incapacitate them and take them prisoner. Once they dropped each of them unceremoniously in the street – without their weapons - the other soldiers were all too happy to take charge. Hannibal and Face went back to the perimeter. BA carried wounded men to the dispensary.

All through the camp, skirmish lines of Americans still well enough to walk methodically searched every building, pulling soldiers both living and dead out of the rubble. The smell of blood and burned out buildings hung thick in the air. The NVA would be celebrating today; they had killed more Green Berets in three hours than in the past six months.

Once the perimeter was secure, Face made a quick stop at the dispensary – just long enough to wave at Murdock and let him know they were all okay. The dispensary was a mess of blood and chaos. Cruiser rushed among the overworked medics to save dozens of lives while volunteers held IV bottles.

Face knew, as he watched volunteers slip the still-warm bodies of soldiers into bags, that he should stay. His medical training wasn't extensive, but he knew how to start IVs and stitch wounds – which was more than most of these men probably knew. But all the people, and all the blood, and too many familiar faces made him back away. Numb and hazed with confusion, he stumbled to the NCO club, poured a shot of Jack Daniels, and chased it with a beer. He didn't even look up as Hannibal sat down next to him and took the bottle.

"You okay, kid?"

He nodded mutely, but still felt Hannibal's gaze rake over him, searching his injuries. He leaned forward, holding his head in his hands as he suddenly realized that he was still dressed only in the shorts he'd slept in, and bleeding from the shrapnel that had cut through his arms and legs and back. "Jesus, Hannibal, what happened?"

"I don't know," Hannibal admitted. "I really don't know."


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

The pilot Hannibal had recruited in Murdock's absence, Snap, was a bit of an enigma. A bit high strung and definitely by-the-book, there was no logical explanation for how he had survived _one _drop with Hannibal, let alone six.

"He's good," Hannibal explained, pausing beside Murdock who was watching the exterior pre-flight check from a safe distance.

"Well, you're not dead yet." Murdock smirked as he glanced briefly at Hannibal. "So that counts for something."

"He's got nerve. That counts for a lot." Hannibal knelt beside his pack, checking pockets. "When Face fell through the trees, he took us back. He didn't have to. A lot of pilots wouldn't have. It was pretty hot."

Murdock nodded, thoughtfully. "Is that where you met him?"

"Yeah. About a month and a half ago." Hannibal paused. "He's definitely a rules and regulations type. Drives Cruiser up the fucking wall."

Murdock grinned. "And you?"

Hannibal smiled as he stood again and reached for his cigar. "You forget, Captain. I went to West Point. I'm good at that game."

Murdock offered a lighter before Hannibal could find his, then dropped it back in his pocket.

"You shouldn't have a problem," Hannibal continued with a lingering glance in the direction of the chopper. "You outrank him. He'll be… exceedingly polite."

"You mind if I fly right side?"  
Hannibal raised a brow, curious. "No."

"Good. How old is he?" He didn't give an answer to Hannibal's implied question. Why didn't Murdock want control of the chopper? He was the senior officer, and had more experience, and was closer to the team. But he wanted to be the co-pilot?

Hannibal could've asked. Instead, he let it go. "Nineteen."

A brief laugh, and Murdock shook his head. "Just a baby…"

Hannibal chuckled. "You're all babies, as far as I'm concerned." He grabbed his pack, hoisting it over his shoulders. "Hell, Face is barely twenty."

Murdock blinked, surprised. Not that Face looked a day over sixteen, but the numbers didn't add up. "I thought he'd been here longer than that."

Hannibal only smiled, and glanced over as Face, Cruiser, and BA appeared between the hootches, heading for the chopper. "Ready, Captain?"

Murdock smiled, pushing the thought aside. "Ready as I'll ever be."

*X*X*X*

Murdock flew right-side to drop his team off in North Vietnam, about five clicks from a small collection of buildings that had been scouted from the air a few days before. He wasn't the only chopper. They were inserting an entire Hatchet Force of forty CIDG alongside RT Cannon. They were anticipating that camp to still be in use.

Snap was a bit uneasy in his role as AC while a senior officer flew as co-pilot. Murdock wasn't sure if it was the "co-pilot" part or the "senior officer" part that got to him. If Murdock's own experience was any indication, Snap had been flying solo for Hannibal at least half the time. And the request to let Snap have the authoritative role in the chopper had certainly caught everybody off guard. Murdock had said it was because he was out of practice; he'd only been back in-country for two weeks, after all. But really, that wasn't his reason. His hands were made for these controls, and he didn't think he'd ever be uncomfortable behind them. He flew on the right so that he could watch Snap. It wouldn't take long to get a reading on him when he was the one in charge.

Hannibal was right. He was by the book.

All the time in the air, lowering into the LZ, waving good-bye and good luck to the team, he barely said a word that wasn't straight out of the operations manual. It was amusing. This kid was going to be fun to break-in. Efforts to stir up conversation on the way back were repeatedly thwarted. But Murdock was nothing if not determined. As one topic after another stalled out, he came up with new ones – all the way back to the FOB.

"So where are you from?" Murdock asked as the blades wound down.

"Michigan, sir," Snap answered curtly, beginning his post-flight check. "Alpena."

"Cold up there. How are you handling this heat?"

"Feels like I'm in hell, sir."

Murdock chuckled, and watched him as he went carefully through the procedures. Twice. Lack of confidence? Or maybe it was just intimidation. Murdock couldn't imagine he did this every time he flew. Nobody was _that _tedious.

"I've got a bottle of whiskey in the hooch," Murdock said as Snap finally finished. Conversation topic number 421 had stalled out. Maybe liquor would loosen the kid's tongue a bit. "Why don't you let me pour you a drink?"

"I don't drink, sir," he clipped. "Especially not with my team on the ground."

Murdock blinked, startled by the line that sounded almost like an accusation. "I never said we were going to get shitfaced," he clarified.

"Actually, I'm going to take a nap. I didn't get much sleep last night." He nodded his acknowledgment in lieu of a salute. "Captain." And without another word, he turned and walked away.

As Murdock stared after him, stunned by the abrupt end to the conversation, he slowly felt a smile creeping across his face. No wonder he and Cruiser were at odds. Snap was definitely going to be fun to crack. But that was okay. Murdock enjoyed a challenge.

*X*X*X*

BA was tense and on edge. It had nothing to do with the mission. Taking the camp had been pretty straightforward. The "battle" had been more like an extermination. They had a grand total of ten injuries for forty VC dead - and most of those injuries were not severe. None of them needed an immediate extraction. They'd rushed the camp so fast - from all directions - that the enemy hadn't had a chance to react. In ten minutes flat, they had the camp and all the information inside was now theirs for the taking.

"Sergeant, you're awful quiet."

The implied question was obvious, but BA hoped that for once, his CO was just killing time instead of leading somewhere with it. BA was a man of few words and Hannibal was a master at them. With his rifle across his lap, Hannibal was perched on the edge of the bunk in what appeared to be the commander's quarters, thumbing through a stack of papers. BA scowled at him briefly, and gave a noncommittal grunt before resuming his watch at the door.

Hannibal chuckled under his breath as he went back to his papers. "What's on your mind, BA?"

What was on his mind? Funny that a full bird colonel was asking a enlisted man like him that question. Even funnier that he meant it. It had taken BA a while to get used to Hannibal's style, but in the end, he really appreciated it. He'd never forgotten what it was like to be trapped without a voice, treated like a piece of machinery. That's all the Army really saw him as, and the man standing there looking at him with a soul piercing stare was the only one who changed that.

Didn't mean he wanted to talk about this. Because he didn't. If it was anyone else asking, BA would have hit him just to not have to think about it, But he owed Hannibal an answer. More than that, he owed him the truth.

"I'm thinkin' 'bout those fools we bunk with." Maybe Hannibal would hear the anger and let it drop. Anger was so much easier to handle then the conflicting feelings he was having.

"Which ones?" He grinned slightly, keeping his tone light. "We've got several."

The smile and light tone didn't fool BA in the least. Hannibal didn't miss a trick, especially when it came to the team. He was all smiles until he felt the need not to be and then God help whoever was in his path. Even looking through the papers, he was still assessing BA, looking for something that BA frankly didn't want to give. It would be easier to give it up than have him poking and prodding until he found it. But the words got tied up in his brain and his instinct took over.

"The same three stooges from before. Larry, Moe, and Curly."

Hannibal glanced at the Face and Cruiser, who were safely out of earshot, and raised a brow at BA. "What about them?"

The question was unassuming, but he clearly recognized the significance in the "three." BA shot a hard look at Hannibal before his voice lowered and words came out in a angry rush. "Aw, come off it, Hannibal. You know what the problem is."

He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't want to have to feel it again. Flexing his shoulders, he felt the scars on his back pull. Memories and shame and a bunch of other stuff he _never _thought about washed over him all at once. He looked down. "Seein' him is hard. And they don't know what to do with it." And neither did he.

Hannibal studied him for a long moment, then lowered his head again to continue through the papers. "Seeing him is hard." He paused. "But they'll adjust. And so will he. It's just going to take a little while for him to get back into the swing of things."

BA was silent for a full thirty seconds, mouth opening and then closing as he stared at Hannibal, scowl deepening. "Swing of things? That ain't his problem an' you know it."

Hannibal watched him carefully. "What is?"

BA growled. The skinny flyboy had no problem getting into the swing of things, and _that_ was the problem. "He happy to be here, Hannibal, Happy to think he ain't ever goin' back to the real world." BA took a step closer. "He ain't the same and he ain't never gonna be."

No longer merely trying to assess the legitimacy of the conversation, his voice dropped the light tone. He wasn't challenging, but he sounded harder. "None of us will be. What's your point?"

BA's shook his head. It wasn't coming out right. He didn't know how to make it come out. He didn't even know how to make it stay in. Frustration, worry and ager at the injustice of it all hit BA all over again. And if he felt it, then Hannibal had to feel it. He wasn't looking for a real answer. But what was BA supposed to say? "Look in his eyes, man. Part of him is trapped in that hole. We got his body back, and it walk and talks an sounds like him, but he lost."

Hannibal didn't answer. BA dropped his eyes to the floor as unwanted emotion rose up inside of him. Jaw clenched, he swallowed hard. "He gave it up for us, Hannibal." He looked back up, pained. He felt like he was begging. It felt wrong and unnatural and weak and BA hate it. How was he supposed to deal with that? How could any of them cope with it? "He chose us."

"And we chose him," Hannibal answered solemnly. "We couldn't have done any more than we did to get him out of there as soon as we could. And we can't do any more to bring him back from being lost than what we can do."

"I know that. But it don't change nothin'."

Hannibal paused for a long moment before he continued with deep reverence. "War is hell, Sergeant. It's broken stronger men than all of us. But this is the path you've chosen. It's the path Murdock chose. Whatever happens to us along that path isn't always within our control. You can either keep going or you can lay down and die. I don't see that _any _of my men have done the latter."

BA's jaw set. He knew all about how war broke strong men. It had broke every last one of them in one way or another. And they taken the cracked and chipped pieces they could find and patched each other up again. All except Murdock. He had been all alone in the dark.

BA snarled at the thought of it. Six months of no light, being treated like something less than even an animal. Six months and he never sold them out. BA hadn't lasted six weeks. They owed him... something. BA owed him. But he had no idea how he was supposed to pay back that kind of debt.

When they had pulled him out, he was just paper skin wrapped around bones. But he'd been smiling. And he was still smiling now. BA would've known how to deal with the anger and regret and fear and hate… but how was he supposed to deal with smiling?

"I'd be more worried 'bout the three of them killing each other," he finally said.

"What do you mean?"

Murdock's first night back and Cruiser was swinging at him. Second night back, BA had him pinned up again a wall. "Murdock don't know how to stop and they don't neither."

He glanced at the door and then back to Hannibal. They all had problems. No one could go through what they'd gone through and not have problems. Big ones. But those three didn't even seem to notice they had problems. Worse, they didn't seem to care. Face was walking around determined to carry the weight of the world all by himself, not caring if it crushed him. Cruiser was drinking more and feeling less. And Murdock with his desperate happiness and crazy eyes... They were all walking around just waiting to either get killed or self destruct.

"How we supposed help them?"

Hannibal smiled faintly, almost sadly. If BA still prayed he would have, in that moment. He wanted Hannibal to have the answer. He would do whatever was asked, whatever was needed, whatever it took. Anything to stop this helpless feeling. But he had to know what to do. "Hannibal…"

"The same way they help you," Hannibal answered quietly. "By being there. Because here and now we're all in this together. Regardless of what happened back there."

BA looked away. Those words, and all the words contained in them that were left unsaid, cut him to the core.

Hannibal hesitated for a long moment and finally sighed. "I don't pretend to have an answer for you, BA. Don't take it that way, because I don't. I don't know how this is going to work out. But I do know that we all have a much better chance if we stick together."

No one had the answers. BA knew that by now. He wasn't sure why he even bothered asking anymore. Was it habit, hope, desperation? Did it matter?

"Boston had someone to go home to," Hannibal continued quietly. "And he's recovering. He's safe. Murdock wasn't. He's got a better chance here for recovery. And without that, it doesn't make a damn bit of difference if he's safe."

BA shut his eyes, and let out the breath he'd been holding. None of them were healing. None of them were safe. But if Hannibal's only word on the subject was that they needed to stick together, BA trusted that. They would stick together. Maybe they would survive long enough to find both healing and safety. Even if they didn't. What else did they have?

Still, BA didn't envy Hannibal's position. Dealing with those three was like trying to handle a bunch of over-energetic kids with guns. With a small snort BA turned back to the door. "Only a crazy fool like Murdock would need a war zone to heal."


	6. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"You're out of your mind, Murdock."

Murdock laughed, as much at Face's tone as the words. He sounded thoroughly uninterested and unamused. "Oh, come on! It's not like we got anything better to do. 'Til Hannibal's ready to drop again, we're just killin' time."

"Hey, man!" BA's angry tone was a bit more forceful than Face's. "Hannibal told us to wait at the camp. An' that's what we're gonna do. Don't you get us kicked outta here with your crazy pranks."

Murdock rolled his eyes, the smile still firmly in place. "He's notgon' kick us out. C'mon, I knowthe guy. It'll be funny as hell. Face?"

Face shook his head. "Sorry, Murdock. And I'm not aboutto be the one to explain this."

"Forget it, man," BA ordered roughly. "You crazy."

Murdock turned to his last hope, who had been noticeably quiet thus far. "Cruiser?"

He stayed quiet for several more seconds, staring thoughtfully at the cigarette between his fingers. Face groaned as he rolled his eyes. "Aw, don't tell me you're actually consideringthis!"

Cruiser grinned. It was that exact same smile Hannibal wore when he was trying to convince them of the brilliance of some impossible plan. "It _would _be funny as hell."

Face was unimpressed. "And just where are you planning to _get _fireworks?"

Murdock beamed. "See, that's why we need you, Faceman. You're an integral part of this whole operation."

"No," Face said firmly. "No, no, no, and absolutely not. There is no way in hell I am –"

"Oh, come on, Face," Murdock interrupted.

"The man said no!" BA practically yelled.

"If we do it right," Cruiser said thoughtfully, "we won't even get caught."

"And if we do, we'll keep your name out of it," Murdock promised.

The sarcastic look Face shot him said more than words. "You think Hannibal's not gonna know where the fireworks came from?" He paused. "Besides, we're three hours from the nearest civilization. Where am I supposed to even get fireworks?"

Murdock's smile was growing. He was winning. Face had started thinking about where to get the fireworks.

"We could make them," Cruiser suggested. "I mean, we wouldn't have all the pretty colors, but how hard it is to send something up in the sky and make it explode?"

Face put a hand over his eyes. "You guys are gonna get me court marshalled, you know that?"

"Um…" Snap, who had been silently observing the whole conversation with a concerned expression on his face, finally spoke up. Murdock turned to glance at him. "I know you all really don't care for my opinion on this but… um… I just want to make it clear that if you guys do go through with this? I had _nothing _to do with it."

"Same here!" BA added. "You guys are crazy!"

"Understood." Murdock nodded, suppressing a grin for just a moment of seriousness.

"Face…?" Cruiser smirked, eyes locked on the young lieutenant.

Face dropped his hand, and raised his eyes with a sarcastic look in Cruiser's direction. "Fine," he relented. He turned and pointed at Murdock. "But _you're _going to have to get me to Da Nang. And you're on your own for requisitioning a chopper."

Murdock grinned. "No sweat."

Snap lowered his head, shaking it slowly. "I don't believe this."

"You guys are crazy," BA said firmly. "All of you. Crazy."

*X*X*X*

Face was good at getting things. But the simple issue of _funds_ made it difficult to acquire the kind of fireworks they had in mind. And there had to be money left over to buy plenty of liquor. They'd settled for a few big, pretty ones – they had to rig a launcher for themselves at the base – and a few strings of firecrackers that wouldn't be particularly pretty, but would make a hell of a lot of noise. There were also bottle rockets. Lots of bottle rockets. Those were cheap, and would be fun to play with.

They had all of the above with them as they peered in through the meshed window at the darkened interior of the hootch. Face smiled as he glanced back at Murdock and Cruiser. "Sleeping soundly."

He took another drink from the bottle and handed it to Murdock – who was a little more sober than the two of them for the fact that he'd needed to fly.

"Perfect," Cruiser whispered with a wicked grin. His tone was one that would make anyone besides present company a bit apprehensive.

"And no sign of Hannibal," Face added. That, perhaps, was a bigger factor than the fact that BA and Snap were asleep.

Cruiser shouldered Face out from the window, getting a look at the sleeping men for himself. He laughed quietly. "This is going to be beautiful."

"It'll be good for them." Murdock smirked. "You know. A lesson in what can happen if let your guard down. We're like their teachers. Doing them a favor, really."

Face chuckled, and knelt, gathering the bags of small fireworks. "We'd better be real quiet. BA sleeps deep but I don't know about Snap. And this is going to take some time to set up."

Cruiser knelt down next to Face and began pulling things from bags also. His fingers were more clumsy than normal. Finally, he set his bottle of booze down and made it a two handed operation.

"Hey, what do you think the chances are that these things are going to catch the room on fire?" Face asked. In spite of the seriousness of the question, he didn't sound terribly concerned. At the sound of his own voice, slurred and laughing, he knew he was drunk.

"Only about fifty-fifty," Murdock answered.

"See," Cruiser said, "now _that _is mathematically sound."

Murdock chuckled.

Cruiser tossed a glance at Face. "Aren't you the one that's supposed to know about all of that stuff? BTUs, exposure time, flammable upper and lower limit crap?"

"You don't need to know that stuff, man," Murdock said. "You just need to have a misspent youth and drunken friends from Texas."

"Weapons training, Cruiser," Face corrected, ignoring Murdock's smile. "Not demo. That'd be BA and Hannibal."

Cruiser looked at Murdock. "Think we could ask BA?"

"Or Hannibal?" Murdock grinned wildly.

Face filled both hands with small fireworks and rose to his feet, heading for the door. He paused before going inside. "Make sure we get _all _the weapons before we set this off or somebody's going to get shot."

Murdock and Cruiser were right behind him as he pulled the door open slowly and slipped inside. He set the fireworks on the floor in the center of the floor and tiptoed silently to BA's bunk. He watched the other two out of the corner of his eye as he carefully withdrew the CAR-15 from BA's bunk, then the pistol from under his pillow. There was something sacrilegious about it. But Face was too drunk to care.

Murdock was at the bunk beside him, leaned over his copilot. With care and speed that indicated he'd done this sort of thing before, he'd already removed the weapons and tied a long string of jumping jacks to Snap's right ankle. Cruise was gathering weapons from around the room, piling them near the door.

Face carefully tied the strips of fireworks to BA's ankle, then returned to the center of the room with the rifle over his shoulder and the pistol tucked into his pocket. He knelt down, spread out the piece of wire mesh, and began weaving the fuse in around and through. He barely heard Cruiser's whisper to Murdock. "You should tie them to each other."

Face bit back his laughter. Working fast, he cut the fuse a little long, and began filling the holes with the bottle rockets, tightly enough that they stood up and held the mesh up off the floor a little. It was taking too long, and he gestured for Cruiser's assistance.

He made his way over, grinning all the way, and knelt down. Murdock joined them a few minutes later, and tapped Face's shoulder, gesturing for him to look at the bunks. He was shaking from holding in his laughter. Face looked, and choked on a laugh. The strings of fireworks from BA's foot to Snap's were attached to each other, reinforced with electrical tape. Face smiled and nodded as he whispered a congratulatory, "Nice!" at Murdock.

Cruiser waved for Face's attention as he finished with the last of the bottle rockets, and pointed out the camera on the floor next to his bunk. With a nod, Face rose and tiptoed over, grabbing it and giving one more quick glance around the room. Then he gave a thumbs up and reached for his lighter, waiting for confirmation.

Murdock grabbed his lighter, paused near BA and Snap, and waited for the signal from Face. Cruiser was near the door, with the weapons, ready to go. Face found the fuse on the mesh/fireworks contraption and held up a hand for a countdown. Three... two... one... The fuse caught instantly and Face clinked the lighter closed as he vaulted towards the door. Murdock was right beside him, running hell bent for leather outside.

Murdock and Cruiser headed across the walkway and ducked behind the hootch across from theirs, waiting for the show to start. Face went to the window on the side. He could hear their muffled laughter as he readied the camera.

The eruption of the fireworks was deafening in the silent night. BA and Snap were both instantly upright, scrambling, reaching for weapons that weren't there. They crashed to the floor on top of each other, arms and limbs flailing, and the tie that was holding them together snapped. They scrambled in opposite directions at about the same time that the fireworks in the center of the room ignited, lighting up the room with wheezing and screaming and flashes and sparks.

Face couldn't contain his laughter. It was hard to keep snapping the photos. Finally, he ran for Murdock and Cruiser, laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. Lights were coming on in the surrounding hootches, panicked and half-dressed soldiers stumbling outside, weapons in hand. Murdock was doubled over with laughter and Cruiser was on his knees.

"Oh my God! That was fucking priceless!"

"_Tell _me you got that on camera!"

"It's a redneck alarm clock!"

"Oh dear God!"

They were all three laughing to the point of tears. BA was the first to come flying out of the hootch. "Murdock! I'm gonna kill you!"

"Oh," Murdock stood, "shit," still laughing, "run!"

"Fuck!" Cruiser laughed, using the side of the hootch to push himself to his feet. They were all three drunk as hell, not coordinated in the least. The escape part of this plan was going to be ugly and there was an off chance it would not be successful.

Face pulled himself up off the ground and broke into a dead run, leaving the bottle of liquor behind. But he was sure to take the camera. He was pretty sure BA caught sight of them, because he was suddenly shouting obscenities Face had never heard him use before. He glanced over his shoulder and saw BA bolting after them. Snap was on his heels.

"Don't lose the camera," Murdock called to Face.

"Shut up, man!" Cruiser snapped. Better if BA didn't know about the photos until it was too late and they were already developed.

Face was a little surprised at how hard it was to laugh and run at the same time. At one o'clock in the morning, the camp had been pretty quiet. Now, with the cracking of fireworks and the response of soldiers to the chaos and the screaming of a very pissed off BA, the camp was wide awake. They were going to have to avoid more than just BA. It wouldn't be good if, in running, they ran smack into the camp commander. Or worse – Hannibal.

Face rounded the corner of one of the hootches, Grabbed Murdock and Cruiser on either side of him, and hit the dirt, scrambling and shoving them past the stilts and underneath the raised hootch. Breathing hard, still trying to control his laughter, face put a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, pressing back into the dark. They were going to be covered in mud when they got up. But for now, BA and Snap ran right past them. Success!

"Awesome!" he whispered hoarsely, still laughing. "Abso-fucking-lutely _awesome_!"

"That was _way _more of a reaction than I thought!" Cruiser mumbled, clearly pleased as he took in the chaos that had broken out in the camp.

"No matter what happens," Murdock laughed, "this was fucking worth it."

Hiding under the hootch, covered in warm mud, they smiled and high-fived as the timer-rigged rockets went off at the edge of the camp and the sky above them exploded into a colorful, celebratory array.

*X*X*X*

"Somebody care to explain to me whose brilliant idea this little scheme was?"

Five soldiers stood at attention inside their hootch at Kham Duc, three of them hiding smiles and all avoiding eye contact with Hannibal, who was leaning against one of the bunks, arms across, cigar between his teeth. "Face?"

The lieutenant forced the smile down where it belonged and cleared his throat. "Sir?"

"I'm waiting for something here."

He continued to wait. After a long, lingering silence, he finally sighed. "BA, Snap, you two can go. I know you didn't have anything to do with this."

Face didn't think he'd ever seen either of them move so fast. As the door clacked closed behind them, Hannibal's eyes returned to the three remaining. "Okay, children." His patronizing tone was nevertheless unthreatening. In fact, under any other circumstances, it could almost pass for amusement. "I know Face got the fireworks. I know he didn't get them from around here which means that Murdock flew him somewhere – probably to Da Nang. And Cruiser? I don't know yet how you were involved, but there's no question in my mind that you were."

Cruiser choked on a laugh. "I'm… not sure whether I should be offended by that, sir."

"Yeah, and with enough determination," Murdock interjected, "it's not like fireworks are all _that _hard to find."

Hannibal stared at them. "Okay, fine. However, Face is also the only one out of the three of you who would know how to rig those ones you shot over the camp without getting anybody killed. And the only one with the weapons training to figure out how make a rocket launcher shoot fireworks without blowing yourselves up. And by the way, whose brilliant idea was it to set off firecrackers in the team room with BA and Snap inside?"

"Actually, I can't take credit for that one, Colonel." Face was no longer trying to hide the smile. "Wish I could. It really was quite brilliant."

Hannibal stared at him, amused. Then he looked to Murdock. "I'm not even going to ask where you learned that, but I know it wasn't Cruiser's doing so that leaves you."

"Guilty as charged, Colonel." Murdock was smiling, too.

Hannibal paused for a long moment. "You're lucky that no one saw you," he finally said. "As of right now, they don't know who's responsible for this little bit of mischief but you can bet that if they determine it was you, there's going to be hell to pay."

"That wasn't luck, Colonel," Cruiser grinned. "It was pure skill."

"Well, whatever it was, I'm leaving it to you three to get back on this base commander's good side."

Face turned his head to look at Hannibal, breaking posture slightly. "I thought you said he didn't see us."

"He didn't." A hint of irritation crept into his voice. "But you can be damn sure that he knows _his _men as well as I know mine. So unless you've got a fall guy in mind – and I hope to God you don't – what he knows and what he can prove may be two entirely different concepts. And his opinion is very personally important to me. At ease."

All three of them relaxed. "You got a history with this guy, Colonel?" Murdock asked, curious.

Hannibal didn't answer. Face answered for him. "Nah, with his sister."

The comment earned him a very direct glare from Hannibal.

Face smiled back. "We talked a little bit when we first got here. He has some very fascinating stories to tell about –"

"Enough, Lieutenant." The glare continued. "In any case, I told you all before you came out here that you were to be on your best behavior. Now, we are not leaving this camp until tomorrow afternoon and in the meantime, I really, truly _do_ expect that you will be on your best behavior." He looked at each of them in turn. "No fireworks. No pranks. And _definitely _no storytelling with Captain Anderson. Is that clear?"

A chorus of three "yes sirs" answered him, through smiles, and he shook his head with a sigh as they filed out of the ramshackle hut. Nothing was ever unexciting with his team.


	7. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

Face was concealing weapons under his shirt. Murdock had to admit, he was sort of surprised at just how many he could fit under there. His CAR-15 was on the bed, loaded and checked, and he stashed a few extra clips of ammunition in his bag. He was getting ready to leave.

"So what – exactly – is the appeal?" Murdock asked, watching him curiously.

"Something to do," Face shrugged.

Cruiser, shirt unbuttoned and not quite as ready as Face, was in no great hurry. "We should really go down to Saigon. More to do there." He tucked a second pistol - in addition to the one still lying on the bed in its holster - into the front of his pants. "We probably got 'til tomorrow at least before Hannibal calls."

The order from Westman had come down that morning. Hannibal had already moved on to do initial preparations at the next camp

Murdock - only half dressed with his shirt lying on the bed next to the nine mil that Face had acquired for him - watched his two teammates with anxious eyes. His glances darted between them just a shade too swiftly, focusing on the weaponry they were packing. Did they ever go anywhere without two guns, three extra clips, two hand grenades, and a set of brass knuckles? How did they manage to conceal all of that? But they did it expertly. He could never tell just by looking at them that they were so heavily armed.

Murdock checked the safety on his revolver and cradled it in his palm. "I still think you guys are askin' for trouble."

"So come with us," Face challenged with a smirk and a sideways glance. "Keep us out of trouble."

Murdock didn't answer. Cruiser didn't wait for one. "God, if I spend one more hour in this camp, I'm gonna go bat-shit crazy."

Face checked his reflection in the foggy, cracked mirror fixed to the plywood wall. "Safer for all if you take a walk, Cruiser."

Cruiser chuckled as he buttoned up his shirt. "Think we can get BA to come with us?"

Face rolled his eyes. "Like hell."

"Really," Cruiser mused to himself, "we should go down to Saigon. Wanna go for a ride, Murdock?" There was a wicked glint in his eye.

"An' risk not bein' here if the colonel calls us up?" Murdock reminded him. "When he told us to stay put? No thank you. Not that driving you around and hauling your drunken asses out of bars and brothels doesn't appeal." He shook his head with a grin and tucked the revolver down the back of his pants. "The village is plenty exotic enough for me."

Cruiser chuckled. "That mean you're comin'?"

Face raised a brow as he glanced at Murdock. "You ever been to a Montagnard village? I mean besides just flying over top of 'em?"

"Once. A while ago." He didn't look up as he spoke. He threw on his shirt.

Cruiser smiled at Face. "There, see?" He glanced at Murdock. "And here we thought you liked to play it safe." There was a definite teasing tone to his voice.

"I never claimed to be as much into anything –" he emphasized the word – "as you two seem to be. And I just found the poverty depressing."

"Depressing?" Cruiser chuckled. "I find it sort of... liberating. It's only depressing if they didn't have anything to offer worth selling."

Murdock shrugged again, not really wanting to get into it. "I find a life where you'll sell anything you have kinda bleak. But if it means good company, I'm game." His smile was clearly forced.

Cruiser all but ignored him as he finished with his shirt and slid his arms into his gun holster. "Well, the company, they've got."

Face ran his fingers through his hair, wishing for a comb. "Company that speaks no language I'm familiar with..."

"You haven't tried to learn any? Or even picked some up?" Murdock glanced at the young Lieutenant making faces at himself in the spotted mirror. "Hey, Face, need a comb? I can't believe Mr. Can-Get-Anything doesn't have one."

Face glanced at Murdock, and took the comb from his outstretched hand. "Yeah, it got lost about a week ago. Haven't had a chance to replace it."

"And as far as trying to learn their language," Cruiser said, "you ever heard their language? It ain't like Vietnamese, man. I got a working knowledge of at least basic Vietnamese. Theirs is different."

Murdock grinned. "I like languages. Like cultures. It'd..." He gave a self-deprecating shrug. "I'm guessing you don't go out looking for conversation, though."

Cruiser chuckled. "Only company of the finest kind. You ready to go?"

Face, finished with the comb, handed it back to Murdock. "I'm ready."

"Ready as I'll ever be." Murdock tucked the comb into his back pocket and lifted his hands in a sardonic gesture. "Lead on."

*X*X*X*

The Yards in any given village around any given camp were only as friendly as the Americans had made them. The more effort made by the camp's XO to offer help and medicine and protection, the more they approved of American visitors. This particular village was friendly, even welcoming. Of course it probably helped that their visitors came carrying cigarettes and candy - both of which went to the kids more than anywhere else.

The Yards were a primitive people - fiercely loyal and damn good soldiers when it came right down to it - but left to their own devices, they were for the most part peaceful and kept to themselves. Most of them had never seen life outside of their own village and hunting grounds before the Americans had come and built a base nearby. Modern medicine, to say nothing of modern warfare, was largely unknown. Technology was limited to the mechanics of what they could build with their hands.

Cruiser's medical bag - he never went anywhere without it - attracted the expected attention, and some minor tending of injuries further developed the repoire. An hour of public relations and they were drinking the homemade wine - distilled from god-knows-what, but if experience showed, it was about an 8 on the "how fast can you hit the floor" scale - and sitting on the floor of the chief's hut, watching the preparation of some kind of food that smelled _far_ better than the "wine."

The woman who was preparing spoke no language any of them were familiar with. The chief's broken English was none-too-impressive. What he could communicate was all friendly, and Murdock watched him with almost as much amusement as Face was watching his daughter. There were several other women in the village, too. But she was the one who happened to be close at hand in this particular moment. There was little intent in Face's stare, but he was definitely staring. It made Murdock grin to himself. One track mind…

The wine was better than most of the wine he had drunk in his life. But considering the rotgut he had drank, that wasn't saying much. It had been fun to watch the kids, to greet the locals and try to bridge communication gaps. Still, Murdock couldn't quite shake the sense of uneasiness. The last time he had been in a village like this - well, maybe not _quite _like this - it hadn't ended well.

The scent of the food brought back the memories more than the surroundings. The Yards looked and talked and acted different than their Vietnamese counterparts. They lived in different style houses and had different mannerisms. But for all of that, the food was still very similar. Murdock hadn't been exposed to it at length. A lifetime ago, a naïve, love-struck kid had smiled his way through a family dinner. That kid was dead. Unfortunately, his memories had not died with him.

Sudden movement from Face caught Murdock's attention, out of the corner of his eye. Immediately alert, Murdock looked at him, then at the window Face's attention had snapped to.

"You hear that?" Face asked Cruiser, who was sitting beside him.

Murdock listened. At first, he heard nothing. Then, faintly, the sound of a motor. A jeep from the base? Murdock frowned. Not likely. They hadn't used a vehicle to come out here; why would anyone else? The terrain coming from that direction was far too treacherous, even for a jeep, and it was simply easier to walk. Besides, it wasn't that far.

Eyes riveted to the hole in the wall that served as a door, Murdock stared out at the jungle and what he could see of the village from five feet up in the air, in a house of stilts. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he strained to listen.

"What are the chances that's friendly?" Cruiser asked, just as quietly, careful not to alarm the chief or his family. They couldn't understand the words, but the concerned tone was hard to mistake.

Whatever the sound was, it was still a long way off. Nevertheless, Cruiser set his cup of wine aside, adjusted his rifle over his shoulder, and stood to his feet, moving to the doorway. Face rose with him, keeping stride to the door. "I don't think we've got a chance in hell that that's friendly."

Murdock got to his feet more slowly. There was no panic, no frantic rush in the movements or the words coming from either of them, but he could feel the tension rising. He swallowed hard as he scanned the village through the window. There was nothing. Still too far away. But as it came closer, the sound grew more and more pronounced. Not one motor, but several. And old - not a jeep. Murdock felt his heart skip a beat, his pulse picking up.

"Not friendly," he repeated, his voice tense. "Let's get the hell out of here, then."

He'd scanned the perimeter when they first entered the village. There was no road here. Maybe there was a road nearby and they were just passing. He swallowed hard as he heard the motors die, one at a time.

"Not friendly's a blanket statement, Murdock," Cruiser said coldly. He glanced at Face. "Figure, what, five or six?"

The silence that followed the end of the motors was almost too silent. Face glanced at Murdock, then at Cruiser. "Those aren't jeeps, they're trucks. Might hold two, might hold twenty."

Murdock's eyes widened at the thought of twenty men in each of six trucks versus the three of them and some unarmed villagers. "Shit…"

"How much ammo do we have?" Face asked, smiling over his shoulder at the chief as if to ease his mind about the little impromptu meeting by the doorway.

Cruiser shook his head. "Fucking nowhere near enough."

Murdock pushed the fear down, swallowing hard. They needed to get the hell out of here. But no way could they get the whole village out in time. "I have two clips for the rifle and the .45," he managed, his voice trembling. _Fuck, don't panic now. You don't have time for that!_ But he was out of his depth and out of his element. Jesus, what in the hell was he doing here?

He took a deep, slow breath. He wasn't alone. Face and Cruiser were there. He trusted them. , Calming slightly, he looked at Face, waiting to hear the plan he could see formulating. With a tight smile, he tried to speak without his voice shaking. "Seems like anytime I go anywhere with you guys I'd better pack extra ammo. And maybe some C-4. And a tank."

Cruiser didn't look back at Murdock. "Keep that in mind for next time, flyboy."

*X*X*X*

Face listened for a long moment, silent. His eyes were tracking over the lay of the land. Depending on where and how they attacked, there were places to hide. If they came through the village from one side, there were defensible positions. If they circled the area first and closed in, that would pose a much bigger problem.

Finally, Face turned and locked eyes with Cruiser. "We've got high ground inside here," he said flatly, his voice completely lacking emotion. "But we need to split up and make them think there's more of us or they'll just all converge right here and blast the place to hell."

"They'll come here anyways for the chief," Cruiser reminded him.

Face nodded. That was a given. If they got that far, there would be no stopping them.

"Attack from three sides?" Cruiser suggested.

Face glanced at Murdock. The captain wasn't trained for this beyond the rudimentary initiation Hannibal had run him through. He was armed, and that gave him something to work with. It was a hell of a lot more than the villagers had.

"Get the Yards split up between us?" Cruiser continued. "Pick 'em off?"

There was no time for more planning. The first shots rang out in a harsh auditory assault, and Face's grip was on his rifle, battle ready, in a flash. He spun behind the wall - not that the leaves and twigs offered a damn bit of protection from anything but line of sight - and dropped down to a sitting position. _Damn_,they moved fast!

Cruiser had spun on his heel, back up against the wall and weapon drawn all in the same motion, crying, "Fuck!" as Murdock dropped into a low crouch, eyes wide. Face could feel his heart rate stepping up. Adrenaline and surprise, the inevitability of battle.

The chief was on his feet, halfway to the door with a wide-eyed look of horror. Face hadn't even seen him get up, but he knew immediately that his intent was to run right out there and get himself shot. "No!" Face yelled at him, but didn't have any more time to devote to him in the midst of the screaming and gunfire from the AK-47s.

"You better saddle up, flyboy," Cruiser smirked at Murdock.

Face turned away from the chief. If he didn't listen, he was dead. It was that simple. And not Face's problem. His focus was on preparing as he readied his other clips on his belt to make them more accessible. "Murdock," he said under his breath. "You're going to stay right here, and you're going to cover us from this doorway. Do _not _give away your position. You watch for anybody who's watching you." He looked up, armed and ready, and locked eyes with Murdock briefly. "Remember, you can't see what's going on underneath you. If they know you're here, they'll sneak up on you. Understand?"

Shoving down what was very obviously panic, Murdock nodded. "I got you. Go."

Face's eyes locked on Cruiser, cold and serious. "Ready?"

He flexed his grip as he looked out into the street. Twenty or so Vietnamese. "Fuck the high ground. Just stick to wherever you can find shelter."

Cruiser's eyes matched Face's in every way as he took a deep breath. "Fuck it, let's go."

"Jesus, I hope there's not more of them still coming," Face muttered under his breath.

Without another word, he bolted out from the doorway and across the wooden "porch" before jumping down to the dirt without regard for the ladder. He ran across the open space - unnoticed for the most part by the enemy who was busy on the other side of the village. He wanted to get closer. Without the high ground, he needed to get closer.

He'd made it only a few huts closer, into the thick smell of dry burning wood and brush as the enemy set their first fires. Once he was noticed by one, he was noticed by all. The poles of the hut were _just_ thick enough to hide behind as an entire group of Vietnamese turned and fired on him, AK-47s rattling on full auto.

Face spun and made himself as small as possible against the wood post, shutting his eyes and trying to control his breathing as the bullets cracked into the wood, the dirt, everything around him on either side, like a pounding rain.

A few short bursts from a CAR-15. Cruiser. Murdock's M-16. The bullets let up a little. Whether it had been his intent or not, Face had attracted the attention of a large number of the VC. Besides those who'd immediately turned their guns on him, there were those who stopped in their tracks to stare as they suddenly realized they were under equal attack. They hadn't been expecting there to be any return fire, and certainly not from a different direction than they were shooting. In the few moments of chaos, the AK-47s quieted a bit while they tried to regain their bearings.

Face waited until the crowd that was firing on him had diminished some, then turned and sprayed at point blank range, taking the rest of them down, then bolting for the cover of another one of the posts that wasn't so badly damaged. With one eye on Cruiser and the other on the impending threat, he moved closer to where they were taking cover on the other side of the village, digging in for an attack.

*X*X*X*  
Murdock was crouched low, careful to stay out of sight. Alert for any sign or that Cruiser or Face were in trouble again, his finger rested on the trigger. His mind was turned off, narrowed down to just the task at hand. He'd taken down the men closest to Face, sweeping the area, trying to hit as many as possible while only allowing himself a couple seconds at a time to fire. The muzzle flash would give him away, as would the sound directionality. But if they looked his way, he had to be certain they saw nothing.

Fuck, there was a lot of them. He heard Cruiser's brief burst of shots and opened up with a few quick shots of his own, careful to not expose his position. The smell of blood, gunpowder and burning bamboo fill his nose as he watched the VC fall, the fires burn, the Yards caught in the crossfire.

Face moved again. He was still alive and well enough to move. Good. Cruiser was good, Face was good. Stay out of sight and watch the two of them. Stay out of sight; that was his focus. Stay out of sight and ignore the blood and gore.

Adrenaline made time fly at record speed. There was no telling how long they had been engaged when suddenly, under Murdock's feet, the bamboo floor itself seemed to explode into fragments. Attacking. Bullets shot up through the room and into the ceiling. The chief. His wife. Daughter. Blood. A screech of pain. Without a thought, Murdock pressed to the wall and aimed down into the floor.

The bamboo was shredded, the floor's integrity threatened. Blind anger swept through him as he fired down into the breach. His rifle clicked. He was out. He dropped the clip and slammed a new one in.

The emotions were confused, but all somehow angry. Angry at the men who were trying to kill him, who had just massacred a family before his eyes and had intended to do the same to every family in this village. Angry that war was a part of life in a fallen world. Angry at the fact that he knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do for the bleeding figures on the cracking floor. Angry that he was so fucking powerless, in every way.

He'd had enough. If he lived, he _would_ petition Hannibal to let him in on training exercises. Because hanging out with these guys, whether on or _off _the battlefield, required Special Forces training. Unable to protect himself or those around him, a liability… No. No more. He'd seen too much to let this go on.

The bullets that had been coming up through the floor paused briefly - just long enough to make the cracking of the bamboo floor sound deafening. A few seconds of warning, and then the entire thing split along the lines of bullets that had been fired from both the top and the bottom.

Wine, blood, bodies, the fish dinner the family had been cooking, the daughter who was alive enough to cry out... everything suddenly fell. Holding his rifle tightly to him out of instinct, Murdock reached for the girl. Too late. They hit the dirt, hard, and he heard her sobbing in pain as the dust cleared. He was in a crouch, in front of her, sweeping the area for any sign of movement, anything he needed to kill. How many where out there? How much ammo was left? Was the chief alive? Were Face and Cruiser alive? They were all questions he couldn't even think about until he knew the area was clear...

His reflexes were the only thing that kept him from being an open target. They were shooting, but without the dust having cleared yet, they couldn't see what they were shooting at. Three of them, three AK-47s pointed up and in his general direction, spraying bullets in no particular order - the ground, over his head, on either side... it was a miracle they didn't drop him even if they hadn't yet gotten a fix on him. Pushing the girl flat, he squeezed off several rounds at the fuckers. God damn it, die already! He felt satisfaction when he saw their outlines hit the dirt.

Motioning to the girl to stay flat - he had no idea if she understood, or if she was even capable of moving - he belly crawled, gun at the ready, towards the dead and dying VC. He had no idea who was out there or what they would face and he was low on ammo. He needed their weapons. Then he needed to get the fuck to somewhere he could defend better. And he needed a drink. And a tank.

The gunshots in the rest of the village had slowed. The cackling of the fires as the thatch houses torched, and the screaming of the injured and the dying were the only sounds to be heard over the sound of Murdock's own breathing. Before he'd even made it to his feet, Face was over him, dripping sweat and breathing hard, but apparently uninjured. "You alright?"

Covered in blood, dirt and god-knows-what, Murdock didn't let himself think. He couldn't. On autopilot, he nodded. "I'm fine. The chief and his wife got hit."

He let his brain talk - fact for now, emotions later. He looked at Face, and his brow furrowed as he processed what he was seeing. Only one of them. That didn't mean anything. But it wasn't the kind of assurance he was looking for that everything was alright. "Where's Cruiser?"

*X*X*X*

Cruiser could see most of the village, including the chief's hut and the mess that had become of it, from where he was standing with his back to one of the posts that supported the hut. It wasn't the greatest cover, but it was as good as it was going to get. The people of the village were scrambling, adding to the confusion. It would be harder for the enemy to pick out his location in the chaos. Of course, the easiest solution to that was to simply shoot anything that moved. But at least there were fewer of them shooting now than there had been. And in any case, he had another few locations already in mind to run to when this one was compromised.

He crouched, getting as much cover as possible, his rifle readied, finger on the trigger, waiting until he got a handle on where they were congregating. Short bursts, mind blank, solely focused on the battle - threat - and eliminating that threat. The pounding of his heart in his ears, the screams, the bullets pinging around him, whizzing by his head. None of that made it past the need to survive - to find that next target.

He moved with combat hardened skills that took no thought. Firing his weapon, searching his next post. All of it was done without thought; he was barely even aware of the fact that he was doing it. Instinct alone.

He moved methodically to the other end of the village. By the time he'd reached the fires, the majority of the VC had either died or fled. He'd lost track of how many he'd killed, and how many of the Yards may have been hit in the process. It wasn't his intent to engage in friendly fire. But they had to move fast, before the enemy had time to regroup.

Cruiser stood there, his back pressed against a tree, his breathing ragged. He pulled off a grenade and threw it towards the bushes where a large group of them had taken refuge. He didn't wait or even think about the results. He was already ejecting his empty clip onto the ground. He slammed in a new one, and was immediately firing. It didn't take him any time at all to find new targets. They just kept coming. Kill some - spray them down - and a second later they were replaced. Fuck! If this kept up, he was going to run out of ammunition and have to rely on his knife. He'd probably get killed in the process. But then again, it might be preferable to debriefing this whole goddamn thing…

Cruiser pushed himself of the side of the hut he'd found himself leaning against as the immediate threat dwindled. slowly things started filtering back in. Men, women, and children lay dying and dead on the porches and on the dirt. And the little huts on the stilts, engulfed in flames, were not all empty. That shrill screaming of the wounded and dying seemed to come from everywhere. That last cry that released all strings to life. The smell of blood and burning flesh. The heavy smoke that burned his eyes. Crackling and popping of fire as it consumed the village.

He took a deep, calming breath, his rifle still ready. But there was no more threat that he found. His eyes moved to skimming over the destruction. Most he couldn't help. Some he could, but it would be futile. Ease the pain and suffering for the moment as he gave false hope to the dying.

He almost missed it. His eyes were looking for movement, not stillness. But from the window of the hut furthest on the end, Cruiser caught the gaze of a small child. Staring. Blank. Tears running down his face, over the black soot. Staring at him through the flames on the porch, as if in shock.

_Get out of there, kid…_ He was big enough to climb out the window. But the flames on the porch were almost as bad as the ones inside the house. And he didn't move, except to wipe his eyes. It was going to be too late in a minute. He wasn't moving. The kid was fucking frozen in place.

Cruiser was running. When that had happened he wasn't sure, but he was at the hut before he realized it. The ladder wasn't an option, it was burning up. Most of the porch was too. He circled around the hut, his rifle hanging off his back. Jumping up, he grabbed the ledge of the porch - a small portion that wasn't engulfed in flames - and pulled himself up easily.

He gave no thought to what he was doing, or the flames that were _hot _against his skin. They were a solid wall in either direction on the porch. He had never been so thankful for fucking thatch walls as he took as big a step back and tucked his shoulder in as he drove himself through it wall.

Thick smoke inside. He didn't try to open his eyes, or to breathe. He knew where the kid had been standing, and he didn't imagine he'd moved. Stumbling towards him, he tripped over the other bodies. He didn't bother looking down. Nothing he could do for any of them, whether they were alive or not.

The sound of the fire was deafening. An unfamiliar panic was setting in, just as basic and instinctive as his actions in coming in here. He found the kid, and grabbed him with one arm around his waist. His eyes burned and watered as he opened them to look for a way out. Flames everywhere, including where he'd just come through. Running fast along the wall. There was no time to think.

He pulled the kid up, tight against his chest, and ran towards a part of the wall that was still intact, hoping it would offer at least some protection from the flames on the other side. He shut his eyes as he plowed through. He was blind from the pain and the smoke; they were useless. His lungs were seared, his skin stinging. Either he was going to make it out, or he was going to die. He was totally prepared for either.

His feet hit the ground and he rolled with the kid tight against his chest, shoulder planted, shielding the boy from the impact. Alive. He was alive. Where was his rifle? He found it. On his back. Didn't matter. He couldn't see a damn thing.

By the time he was standing, Face was beside him. "You alright? You hurt?"

"I'm fine. I can't see."

Vision blurred. Eyes burning. Face was handing him water. "We're clear. Rinse your eyes, man."

Cruiser knelt, splashing water into his face, well aware of the death grip the child on his hip had around his neck. It took several full minutes to be able to see again, and then only with blurred vision. Finally, he stood up.

"Here." He tried to pry the kid off of his shoulder to hand him to Face. But it seemed as though that fight or flight had finally kicked in. There was going to be no removing this kid without a pry bar. Cruiser quickly gave it up. "Never mind." It was easier just to shift him to his back, out of the way.

"What do you want to do as far as going for help?" Face asked seriously.

Cruiser scanned as much as he could with blurry vision. It was obvious that they needed help. There was death and destruction everywhere. Fires still burning. Bloody bodies. "I gotta stay here," Cruiser said firmly.

Face nodded. "Murdock, stay with him." Cruiser blinked a few more times. He hadn't even noticed Murdock standing there. "I don't think they'll come back, but if they do, I don't want you here alone."

"You're going back?"

Face checked the clip in his rifle. "Camp's only ten minutes from here. I'll be back in thirty with supplies and reinforcements."

Cruiser shifted a bit to get access to his supplies. "You got enough ammo?"

"I just changed clips. I should be fine."

Cruiser looked at Murdock, the glazed look on his face - blank and distant. "Hey! Flyboy!" He snapped his fingers in front of his face. "You with us?" Flyboy better fucking pull it together. They had work to do and Murdock needed to help. They didn't have time for this shit.

Murdock shook his head quickly, as if to clear it, and nodded. "I'm fine. Go."

Face tapped Cruiser's shoulder - under the kid's arm - as he walked past. "Be back in a few."


	8. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**A/N to Brucas and Mel: Just want to take a minute to thank you for NOT being afraid to review a "non-PC" book. I knew I was going to see a diminished number of people willing to admit they read when I put that in the summary, and sure enough. 455 people viewed Chapter 6, but you two are the ones who keep me going. *hugs* Love you. Thanks also to Dee, who will probably never read this, but whose portrayal of Murdock shaped this book - and the series - drastically from here on out.  
**

Cruiser didn't even know where to start in fixing what was broken here. In the burning remains of what had been a peaceful village just a few hours ago, he looked around for a clear area to set up. The kid was still clinging to him. Cruiser shoved and twisted and turned to push him onto his back instead of his hip, so that he had both arms to work with. But he didn't even bother trying to pry him off.

"Cruiser, what do you need me to do?"

"Bring me everyone that has a chance," Cruiser ordered, glancing only briefly at Murdock. "The worst first. Leave the walking wounded for later. Got it?"

Murdock nodded, and disappeared. Cruiser took a deep, calming breath - _fuck_, his lungs hurt! - before he set about his task.

There was no shortage of injuries all the way around. Burns and bullet wounds, glazed looks and tears, screams of pain. But if they were screaming, they were breathing. They weren't in too bad of shape, comparatively. And the ones who were dead were dead. He didn't give them a second thought. What Cruiser found unsettling were the ones who were lying face down on the dirt but still blinking slowly. The ones who were still gasping on blood. They left him with a dilemma. How many could he even hope to save?

And all of that was to say nothing of the bodies that were still twitching in the flames as the last of the nerves were destroyed.

Cruiser shut it all out. He had to. He used his best judgment in tending to the worst ones first. The ones that still had a chance. Plugging holes. That's what it came down to. Plug the hole, stop the bleeding, tighten the tourniquet, and move on. Bullets could be dug out later. Pain was not an issue. If they stopped breathing, they were done for. There was nothing more he could do and he didn't bother trying. He just moved on to the next one.

Within minutes, he was covered in blood, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Slick fluids on his hands made it hard to hold onto anything, much less a needle. He swore under his breath as he stopped mid stitch in a gut. Fucking couldn't work fast enough. That last breath shuttered out of the body. Cruiser had seen enough of it to know. He didn't need to see the lifeless eyes or even check a pulse to know that he hadn't moved fast enough. He cut the suture. He kept the needle. And moved on to the next one.

He didn't look at the eyes or listen to the voices. A gunshot wound to leg, open and bleeding. Burns to the chest. None around the mouth though. That was good. No airway compromise meant this one had a chance. The screaming was good, too. He was breathing. That didn't always matter with burns, but until those tissues swelled shut, he was in relatively good shape.

His screams of pain fell on deaf ears as Cruiser pulled at the flesh to see how much damage had been done by the bullet. Not that he could do anything more for him than what he'd do anyways. But if that bullet had hit a major artery, about the only thing he could do was tie a tourniquet and move on.

Plug the holes. Stitch them up. No way to know if the next woman would survive or not. She needed a surgeon. There was too much potential for organ injury. Plug the hole. Ignore the screams. Next was a leg, open tib/fib, hanging unnaturally to the side by only the flesh. Cruiser pulled down on the foot, realigned the bone as best as it was going to get. The young man screamed in agony. Blood, half clotted from inside, poured out of the open wound at the movement. At least the bones where clean. Stitch it up. The medics could splint it for transport later. For now, he was done. On to the next one.

Face returned, and with him, half the camp. Stretchers and medical supplies and sweet, saving morphine. More hands spread the work thinner, and the medics stitched and bandaged while everyone who knew how to give it dispensed the painkillers. Face's path didn't cross with Cruiser's until most of the people still alive had been transported out, and he at the kid still clinging to him. The kid had moved onto his back - letting Cruiser have use of both hands, but he was still hanging on for dear life, his face turned into Cruiser's neck.

"You've got a hitchhiker," Face said, his voice tired. A quick glanced up and down was enough to survey Cruiser. "And you look like hell."

"You might have to dart him with some morphine," Cruiser said as he looked for something to wipe the blood off of his hands. "Surgical removal."

The humor was lost in the exhaustion.

Face handed him a towel and he took it gratefully. "We've got almost all of them out," Face said seriously. He hesitated. "Hannibal's here. He's going to want a preliminary report. Should I distract him for a bit or are you ready to talk to him?'

Hannibal was a medic. It wouldn't be hard to distract a medic here. Cruiser straightened and looked around. There was more than enough help now. He wiped the blood off his hands, but nothing was going get him clean outside of a hot shower and lots of soap. Still, dried blood was better than wet, fresh blood. He shook his head at the mess and let the towel fall to the ground.

"I'm good." He'd reached his limit and he knew it. There was no need to push past it now.

He looked back at the passenger on his back, smiling. "Don't fall off, kid." There was no chance in hell that was going to happen and Cruiser knew it. He also knew the kid had no idea what the hell he'd just said. He may as well start talking to him about nonsensical crap. Kid would never know the difference as long as he smiled and kept his voice light.

*X*X*X*

Murdock had given a preliminary report before they'd ever left the village. He'd given a fuller one once they got back to the camp. He was alone now, with nothing but the burning visions in his mind, the death and carnage that made him sick to his stomach every time he had a flash of memory. The smell of burning flesh, medics, supplies, all too late. She was dead, the baby dead too.

_Get it together, Murdock. You swore you'd never think of it again…_

The cries of the dying, the wailing of the injured. The bodies, broken, blackened_... "Soldiers always leave…"_ They didn't even look human anymore.

Those couldn't be helped. But the ones that had still been breathing, the ones with life still in their eyes... The ones that had died in his arms as the few remaining unhurt men and women slowly emerged from their homes, wide eyed and terrified, and took in the destruction. Every ounce of safety and security they'd ever thought they had was gone. Shattered into a million pieces. And as they had slowly engaged to help gather the dead and the dying to Cruiser, there was almost no sound from any of them. Walking ghosts, no longer completely alive, but spared for now from death.

Murdock hadn't wanted to see it. He certainly didn't want to see it now, replayed over and over in his head. He didn't want to know about it. He wanted his mind to be somewhere else - anywhere but here. And anywhere but that little village and the girl with the wide smile and Jasmine scented hair. Nothing had really changed had it? All the bombs, all the bullets, napalm, dead soldiers, speeches... None of it had really changed anything.

He'd wandered between the broken bodies of the Yards not even sure what cries where real and what were in his head. And it made no difference. He knew about war and hell and even how evil could take the form of men. He had experienced all of it up close and personal. He accepted it. He knew better than to ask why. But what was the point if things didn't change?

Using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat - and tears? - out of his eyes, he thought about the kid clinging to Cruiser. His life would never be the same, but he was alive. He wouldn't have been if Cruiser hadn't been there. Maybe that was the point. The war and the battles never changed, but maybe it was the small victories that mattered. Maybe that was what he had to look at to keep being able to get up every day.

He swallowed hard as he pushed himself up. He needed to stop thinking. He needed to be somewhere, do something. Anything but lying on his bunk like this and just thinking. Cruiser was in the dispensary. So was Hannibal. He needed to find either BA or Face.

*X*X*X*

Face was outside the team room, leaned back against the outside wall of the hootch with a cigarette in his hand. The long chain of ashes on the end of it attested to how long he'd been sitting there perfectly still. The pilot was sitting on the ground on the other side of the doorway, equally silent and unmoving. The silence was deafening. Face found himself lost in it, his mind a whitewashed wall of hazy thoughts and memories. He wasn't even sure how long he'd been sitting here.

"Hey, Face... I don't suppose you've got anything to drink?"

Face didn't answer immediately. It took too long for the words to process. Finally, he flicked his cigarette and took another drag as he shook his head. "No," he answered flatly.

He didn't offer anything more. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Murdock retrieve his own cigarettes. He lit up with hands that only quivered slightly.

"Does it ever...?" Murdock glanced up, then aborted the question. He sighed deeply. "I want a mission. I want to take this and do somethin' with it."

Face focused his attention on the glowing embers of his cigarette. "We'll probably get one tomorrow." That cold, emotionless tone in his own voice was almost sociopathic – detached and unfeeling. Was he even capable of feeling anymore? What bothered him most right now was the fact that he wasn't bothered. He wasn't feeling guilt, or remorse, or sadness, or anger. He just felt... numb. Cold.

"Face?"

"Hmm?"

"You asked me if I was alright, out there. What about you?"

Face shrugged, and finished his cigarette, tossing it out into the dirt in front of him. "I'm fine." Was he fine? What the hell did "fine" feel like, anyway?

"Really?"

No answer.

Murdock contemplated his own boots for a minute and took a drag on his cigarette. "I wish..." He trailed off, and took a deep breath in the silence that followed. "I wish. You know?"

Face laughed, pure cynicism. "No, flyboy. I don't know." He turned and looked at him - a cold, almost taunting look. There was something in his voice that bordered anger, but not quite. It was more complex than that. "What do you wish?"

"What does anyone ever wish?"

"Don't you go getting all poetic on me," Face warned. "I'm not in the mood for it."

"I just wish things were different." Face noticed the way he kept his tone light, refusing to be goaded, refusing to be the someone that Face could take... whatever it was he was feeling out on. At least the guy wasn't gullible.

"You do right ahead and wish." Face looked away again. "I'm a realist. If you wish it was different, make it different. And if you can't, just let it the fuck go." The distance in his eyes, the cold darkness, was almost inhuman as he stared at the dirt in front of him.

"There's a prayer along those lines, you know?" Murdock mused quietly.

Face straightened instantly.

"Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

Face growled. "I warned you once about the poetry."

"It ain't poetry," Murdock answered with a hint of irritability. He sighed, a sound of deep sadness. "It's just… I wish. And I hope. And I even pray. Is that so wrong?"

"You go right ahead and pray, if it makes you feel any better." Face flicked his lighter and lit his cigarette, then snapped the lighter closed again with such enthusiasm, it was a wonder he didn't break the damn thing. "I don't got too much problem accepting things I can't change. Like I said. I'm a realist."

"I prefer to be an optimist. Seen too many realists that were cynics and pessimists callin' themselves somethin' else."

Face raised a brow as he glanced at him. It had sounded almost like a challenge.

Without making eye contact, Murdock stubbed out his own cigarette. "Does it make you feel any better, being 'realistic' about all this shit? About that little boy who just died in your fucking arms?"

"Does it make you feel any better being 'optimistic'?"

"Yeah, man. Because I hope."

"Well, good. Then you sure as hell don't need me."

"I hope for people and situations," Murdock continued, ignoring him. "I hope that something good can come out of anything. No matter how bad."

Face shook his head, and stood up. "You go ahead and hope. I'll see you in hell." He turned and walked into the hootch, calling once more over his shoulder. "Bright and early in about ten hours!"


	9. Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**Wow! There are people reading. wb Belker and hi to new people. Just so you guys know... there is a direct correlation to feedback and posting 'cause this book's been written for about 6 months now. I just haven't been feeling terribly motivated to post it. :-P Thanks guys!  
**

"Everybody in the mess hall in five minutes."

Murdock turned his head towards the door of the team room, but Hannibal was already gone. He finished the page he was on in his book, then sat up. "Cruiser, you hear?"

Cruiser was dead asleep. Murdock stood, and stretched as he walked to Cruiser's bunk and shook him. "Hey."

He startled awake, eyes darting, and quickly saw Murdock. "Huh?"

"Hannibal wants us in the mess hall."

Cruiser yawned, rubbed his eyes, and was on his feet before he was completely awake. "Why?"

"I don't know. He didn't say."

Cruiser stumbled a bit on his way to the door and lit a cigarette on his way to the ramshackle building that served as a mess hall. There would be coffee inside, and that was definitely his priority at the moment. He didn't even look around as he headed straight for the kitchen. Murdock didn't follow, instead turning to the crowd that had gathered on the west end of the room, perched on and around the tables.

Face and Hannibal were a portrait of jazzed energy. Snap was already in the room, more than a dozen ARVN soldiers and at least as many Yards. No wonder why they weren't meeting in the TOC – it wouldn't be big enough to hold all of them. Murdock glanced around, amused, wondering where they'd all come from and why they were all there. The door opened again. Americans. Flight suits. Additional pilots. Murdock's interest was piqued.

"Where's Cruiser?" Hannibal asked. The question was clearly aimed at Murdock.

"Coffee." He gestured over his shoulder.

"Alright, he'll catch up." Hannibal raised his head and addressed the crowd of soldiers. "Alright, everyone, listen up."

The hush that fell over the room was almost instant. Still leaned over the map on the table, Face glanced up briefly.

"I'm Colonel Hannibal Smith, this is Lieutenant Peck, and a C-46 went down in the Tha Khong area of Laos about two weeks ago."

That was the extent of his introduction. Murdock lit a cigarette as he leaned on the table nearby. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cruiser return with a steaming tin cup, attention immediately on Hannibal as soon as he entered the room.

"We have an informant who's given us a detailed description of the prison camp where they're holding the crew of that plane and at least two Americans."

Murdock crossed his arms loosely as he took another drag off his cigarette. The problem with POW snatches, as Murdock understood it, was not the rescue itself. Most of the small jungle camps, unlike Hoa Loa or Son Tay, were barely fortified and minimally staffed. It was easy to maintain control when prisoners had nowhere to run and no strength to do so. Weakened by hunger and abuse, they wouldn't get very far through the jungle. Besides, they didn't even know which way was south, and attempted escape was grounds for execution, Geneva Convention be damned.

No, mounting a rescue from a camp was rarely a problem. The problem was finding it. That took either a stroke of incredible luck or a very good interrogator. In this instance, it had probably taken both. Murdock had no misgivings about their "informant" and what he most likely stood for. Whatever tendency he'd had to be squeamish when it came to interrogations had died with him on the receiving end at Son Tay. But that didn't mean he cared to hear details.

"We're not going to be able to scout this area," Hannibal said seriously. "Our intelligence is _all_ we have to go on. Thankfully, it's been pretty detailed." He glanced at Face. "Lieutenant?"

Murdock smiled. No wonder why Face was radiating energy. By reputation, this was right up his alley. He stood straight as he addressed his audience formally.

"The camp where the prisoners are detained has not been changed since the time of French control over the area," he said, putting his hands behind his back. "It is a large camp surrounded by a ten-strand barbed wire fence about six feet high. There is only one gate, located on route 9 about 75 meters from the bridge at XD 3045, which is large enough to drive a truck through. They keep two trucks in the camp at all times. A guard house is just inside the gate. No villagers are allowed into the camp and our informant does not believe it would be possible for a villager to see or contact the prisoners."

Hannibal took over. "They're being held in a large, covered hole in the middle of the camp. The number of Pathet Lao soldiers in the camp changes frequently, and it is difficult to know when units come and go."

"Our informant said he doesn't know of any additional security initiated since the arrival of the prisoners, but measures already in effect severely limited movement in the area."

"He also said that it's impossible to raid this camp." Hannibal stopped, and let that statement hang for a moment. In the silence that followed, he looked at each of the men in the room individually. "This is not your run of the mill recon sweep. If you choose not to be a part of it, see me afterwards and I'll get you reassigned."

"They have no reason to anticipate an attack," Face said. "So we're not pressed for time. If we want this to go down smoothly, we're going to need to rehearse it. Drill it."

"Therefore," Hannibal took over again, "everybody on the ground needs to go and take a nap and meet us back here at 2200 for drills. Questions?"

Exchanged glances, but no one seemed willing to speak.

"Fine. You're dismissed. Air crew, stay here."

The majority of the crowd left silently, leaving Murdock, Snap, the two unfamiliar Americans, and a few more that Murdock guessed were the crew for the choppers. He hadn't even noticed them standing against the wall. They gathered in closer as the majority left.

When Hannibal spoke again, he was looking straight at Murdock in spite of the fact that he was addressing all of them. "We can't get in close to this camp. The nearest you can drop us off, we're still gonna have about ten clicks to walk through an area that's pretty heavily patrolled." His eyes turned to one of the other men. "You're flying Covey?"

He nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Make sure you stay high enough that they won't hear you. It's dead air over that camp. And we don't want them getting antsy."

"Yes, Sir."

Hannibal looked back at Murdock. "After we drop, you're going back to the nearest FOB and wait. The plan as it stands is that we're going in to take this camp and burn it to the ground. At that point, we'll call Covey and let him know how big of an extraction we're looking at. It's three-tier jungle cover and we're gonna have weak prisoners. We're not going to make it all the way back to the drop zone."

Murdock frowned. "You're thinking McGuire rigs?"

Hannibal nodded.

Fine. That wasn't a problem. And it certainly wasn't what was weighing heavily on Murdock's mind. "Colonel, if this area is heavily patrolled and as difficult to penetrate as you're saying," he hesitated, "what kind of emergency extraction are we looking at if this doesn't go well? These are a lot of people you're taking with you."

Hannibal smiled. "I guess we just have to make sure we don't need an emergency extraction."

Murdock shifted, in spite of the confidence that was radiating from his CO. Somehow, it didn't make him feel all that reassured.

*X*X*X*

There was something different about Murdock. BA had known it from the start, but when he woke them up screaming for the third night in a row, it was starting to get more and more obvious that it wasn't a change for the better.

"Murdock!" Cruiser's limited patience had worn through the night before. He sounded like he was ready to throttle the still-sleeping pilot. "Jesus H. Christ!"

BA dropped off the top bunk to the floor, grabbing Murdock's arm as he thrashed. "Murdock! Wake up! You dreamin', man!"

Murdock's eyes flew open suddenly, and he struggled more violently for a few seconds before he realized who was holding him. Soaked with sweat and still gasping for breath, he shut his eyes hard. He was shaking violently, and BA hesitated to let him go.

"Okay," he gasped. "I'm okay. I'm okay."

BA released his grip, and Murdock sat up immediately, turning his back and putting his feet on the floor, off the other side of the bunk.

"There's vodka in my locker if you need it, Murdock," Hannibal muttered, not even opening his eyes.

"No," Murdock answered shakily. "No. I'm okay. Sorry." He hung his head in his hands, still breathing hard. "Sorry."

BA returned to his bunk. Within minutes, he was snoring softly again. He was tired. They all were. Hannibal had run them hard in their training exercises. He really wanted them to go smoothly. And they were all exhausted to begin with. The nightmares had woken them every night for the past two weeks.

Guilt for waking everyone in the barracks eventually overpowered Murdock's fear. It was sobering. Blinded by the sweat that was burning as it dripped into his eyes, he grabbed his pants off of the floor and pulled them on, then headed for the door.

Outside, the air was just as thick and oppressive as in the hootch, but marginally cooler with the faint breeze. He reached for his cigarettes, but his hands were shaking so badly, he spilled the entire pack all over his lap. With the visions and voices still flooding his overworked brain, and denied even the smallest comfort by his trembling hands, he leaned forward over his knees and hid his face. It was all he could do in that moment not to break down and sob. He could feel his mind blurring, shutting down.

"Here."

Without looking up, or affording any reaction whatsoever to the familiar voice, he reached a hand, fingers apart, and took the cigarette that was offered to him. Bringing it to his lips, he dragged deeply and took a few seconds to hold it in his lungs before exhaling slowly.

"You shouldn't be here," he whispered.

"Neither should you."

That was a good point.

Murdock sighed deeply and sat back, crossing his arms over his knees as he glanced at the man sitting beside him. "Where else am I supposed to go, Alan?" he asked quietly. He desperately wanted an answer to that question. He knew that his brother didn't have it. "You were the only family that I had and you're not coming back."

"What do you mean, I'm not coming back? I'm right here."

Murdock shook his head. "This isn't real, man," he said softly. "You're not real, this cigarette isn't real…" He dragged deeply again, and put his head in his hand. "Hell, I don't even know if I'm real anymore."

Alan was quiet for a moment. "I guess it all depends on your definition of real, don't it?"

Murdock sighed, and looked back up at him. "You died at A Shau, Alan. Why don't you understand that?"

"I do," Alan answered, lighting a cigarette of his own. The lighter clinked as he snapped it closed again. "How come you don't understand I'm still here?"

"Because you're not."

Alan sighed. "How long are you gon' fight it, Murdock? You'd be a hell of a lot happier if you'd just accept it."

"Accept what? That I've lost my fucking mind?" He shut his eyes and shook his head again. "Man, what the hell am I doin' here?"

"Actually –" The voice behind him was startling. Murdock almost fell over as he spun around. "I was wondering the same thing." Face was standing in the door. "Who are you talking to, Murdock?"

Murdock shook his head and glanced over to where the ghost of his brother had been a moment before. The space was empty now. "No one. Just myself."

As he sat down, Face made note of the cigarettes on the ground. He leaned down to pick up two that weren't in the mud. Lighting the first one, he passed it to Murdock before lighting his own. Murdock sighed as he stared at it, but didn't raise it to his lips.

"Why _are _you here, Murdock?" Face asked. "If it's that bad, you never should've come back."

"Well, it doesn't matter much now," Murdock said bitterly. "I can't go home now."

"If you could, would you?"

Murdock glanced up at the sincere question and studied Face for a moment. But he didn't answer. After a long pause, Face sighed. "I'm assuming these nightmares aren't new," he continued. "Which means you lied through your teeth to pass your psych eval. and come back over here. Why the hell would you do that?"

"Wouldn't you?" Murdock asked, directly.

Face was startled by the question. But after only a brief pause, his eyes narrowed in Murdock's direction. "I'm not the one who's waking everybody up with screaming."

Murdock glared back, inexplicable anger rising up inside of him. "What do you want me to do about it, Face?" he demanded, irritated. Had he just come out here to give him shit?

Face matched his tone. "Well, there's probably not a whole hell of a lot you _can _do about it right now. I just wish you'd thought about it before you came back here."

"Well, I'm sorry, okay?"

Face didn't answer. For several long moments, there was only silence between them. Murdock's frustration slowly died. He sighed deeply. "Look, I could tell you that I came back for the good of the team or for my country or because I think we can win this war, but that's not the truth." He paused for a long moment. "The truth is that my reasons for coming back were completely selfish. And I'm sorry if it… if that makes things harder on you guys."

"Selfish?" Face asked, as if he was surprised by the concept. But Murdock had a feeling he understood it full well.

"You, the team," Murdock sighed deeply, "you're the closest thing to family that I have. And I… I need that."

Face shook his head. "That's a real dangerous way to look at things." Murdock frowned at the cold edge to Face's voice.

"Yeah, I know."

Face continued anyways. "Any drop we do, we could go down, not come back. You're better off not considering anybody 'family' over here."

Murdock shut his eyes, lowering his head. "I know," he said quietly. Finally, after a long pause, he looked up again. "But it's all I have, Face. And it's… It's everything I need."


	10. Chapter Nine

**CHAPTER NINE**

Run. His heart pounded in time with the beat of his feet on the narrow path. Gunfire. He kept down, hunched, breathing hard as he reached the road, fell flat, and rolled to his back under the cover of a fallen tree. He could hear the cries, the intermitted gunfire from AKs and M-16s. He stayed low, waiting, his chest aching with every deep, gasping breath. He was in position.

The flare went up. The shadows scrambled. He moved with them. One single force, in unison, rushed the camp with guns blazing, cutting down everyone and everything that stood in their way. With perfectly synchronized movements, they split and swept the buildings. Demo planted charges. Engineers quickly constructed makeshift ladders to get down into the pit. Heavily armed soldiers stood guard on the perimeter, waiting for any attempt at a reaction force to appear from the trees. Face knelt at the edge of the pit and stared down into the darkness.

"Hey you down there. Anyone call for an extraction?"

By the time they lifted those men from the hellish pit, every one of them who was conscious was sobbing. The medics went to work immediately on injuries, and within minutes, the sound of helicopters overhead made the tearful laughter start. Face watched as they strapped the men - some of them merely skeletons - into the rigs. Thirteen Laotian soldiers. Two Americans.

One of those two Americans caught his arm as he passed, and Face turned to look at him. "Thank you," he whispered, through swollen lips, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face.

"You're welcome," Face answered with a truly genuine smile.

He watched, and waited as the loading continued, and made his way back over to Hannibal. Their team of four would be the last to leave, he knew. Until then, it was a waiting game.

"Job well done, huh Colonel?"

Hannibal gave him a full smile as he extended a hand, which Face shook. "Indeed it is." He gave a deep, satisfied sigh as he leaned back against the post of the front gate, just as the first of the buildings - stripped of all its intelligence information - exploded in a ball of flame. "I love it when a plan comes together…"

*X*X*X*

"Need a drink?" the man with the bottle offered.

"What is it?" Face asked, skeptical.

"Scotch."

Face took the bottle and studied it for a moment. The soldier, seated at the rickety table just inside the door, chuckled. "Can't be too picky out here, Lieutenant," he smirked. "It ain't the best, but it's all we got."

Face glanced around. They didn't have much of a club, much less the booze to go with it. Maybe he'd help them out with that before he left, if he had time. The man offered a glass, and Face poured before handing the bottle back.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Out of the corner of his eye, Face saw Murdock in the far corner of the room. He walked to him slowly, running his hand through his damp hair and pushing it back. "It's so damn hot," he mumbled under his breath as he sat down across from the pilot.

Murdock chuckled. "Yeah, and once monsoon season hits, all I'm gon' hear outta you is it's so damn wet."

Face frowned. Once monsoon season hit, it would be both hot and wet. "That rain is a bitch on the ground," he sighed.

"It's a bitch in the air, too," Murdock replied, sipping his drink. "Give me sunny and seventies, any day of the week." He paused, looking away. "Good job out there today."

"Thanks," Face said dryly.

Murdock chuckled and downed an inch or so of scotch in one. He lifted the glass tipping the golden liquid in the light, debating the merits of getting buzzed. "You up for celebrating your team's incredible success?"

Face didn't immediately answer. "Not much to do out here in the middle of fuckin' nowhere," he finally said. He leaned forward on the bar. "We're miles from civilization, unless you want to go into the village. What'd you have in mind?"

"Well… I'm lookin' to get just nicely buzzed an' I'm a maudlin drunk when I drink alone. So if you weren't settin' to do much..." He let himself tail off, unwilling to be so pathetic as to ask for company. But he watched Face out of the corner of his eye, almost as if the young lieutenant were one of the black dots that occasionally made him wonder whether he was seeing things and made him paranoid about his eyesight going. If he lost his 20:20 vision...

"Hannibal's gonna want to try that drop again tomorrow morning. You know that, right?" Face eyed Murdock cautiously. "You get shitfaced, you're gonna have a hard time flying." He smirked. "Again."

Murdock's eyes lowered and he put the glass down on the bar a little more firmly than strictly necessary. All of the laughter was gone from his voice instantly. "That only happened once. And you're a lousy SOB to bring it up." Leave it to Face to take a stick and poke his psyche, bring up the raw places at all the wrong times.

"Oh, come on," Face chuckled. "There's far better reasons to hate me than the fact that I threw you in a cold shower. Hell, as I remember it, you threw up on me in that cold shower. If either one of us should be pissy about it, it should be me."

Murdock held onto the glass, staring at it unseeingly. "Let's just say that I wasn't drinkin' for fun that time."

Face shrugged, but didn't answer, letting his mind wander. He could think of a hundred other places he would rather be than in a ramshackle bunker of some god-forsaken A-camp on the border of Cambodia. Even Saigon, or Da Nang would be better than this. He was stir crazy, and craving blood - like a junkie in need of a fix. Funny how the primal urges got so much stronger out here. Maybe it would help if he just got laid. He knew he needed it. The bare-breasted women of the Montagnard villages were starting to look better and better…

"Anyway, are you up for it or not?"

Murdock's voice startled him and he glanced over, studying him skeptically. Finally, he pushed the glass away and stood. "Come on. I got better scotch than this in the hootch."

*X*X*X*

Murdock gave a long, low whistle as he studied the $200 bottle of liquor. "Mamma. When you said you had better scotch you meant the good stuff. How the hell did you get your hands on this?"

Face just smirked, and grabbed his cigarettes out of his pocket before he sat down against the wall, knees pulled up in front of him. "You did say you wanted to celebrate."

"Geez." Murdock sat next to him, almost prone, long legs out straight, weight canted on one hip. "Seems wrong to drink such expensive shit right out of a bottle."

Face lit his cigarette. "Scotch out of the bottle isn't bad. It's when you start drinking champagne out of a bottle that you need to be concerned."

Murdock chuckled, opened the bottle and took an appreciative sip. "Damn, that's good." He wiped the bottle mouth on his hand before passing it back. "First time I ever got drunk, I was sixteen? Seventeen? One of my buddies back home snuck a bottle of Southern Comfort out of his old man's liquor cabinet." He smiled as he closed his eyes, relishing the good memory. "We drove out to the middle of nowhere and just sat there shooting the shit and passing that bottle around until we'd finished it. I wasn't sick but I had a hell of a head the next day."

Face grinned. "How do you drink that shit at sixteen?"

"I knew guys who drank worse. Drew Danmore's home-made rot gut... I think that was pure ethanol with flavorings." Opening one eye to look over at Face, Murdock smirked. "An' it wasn't the first time I had a drink. Just the first time I got drunk. There was a guy who made his own wines. Most of us had tried them before we hit high school.

Face took a drink, and followed it with a deep drag off his cigarette. "Never been much for wine. Or social drinking." He smirked a little and regarded Murdock out of the corner of his eye. "No offense."

"None taken." Murdock held his hand out for the bottle and Face passed it back. "An' I wasn't talking grape wine, you know. He'd make it from anything - flowers, fruit, vegetables. Turnip wine is probably still the nastiest thing I've ever drunk. I've tasted better puddle water."

Face chuckled, but didn't answer. After a long moment of silence, Murdock opened both eyes and looked toward him. "So how d'you drink?" he asked, groping for conversation. "What was your first time?"

"Eighteen." Face took the bottle, and a long pull, before handing it back. "Right before I enlisted."

Murdock snickered. "You're so full of shit."

Face smirked.

Murdock shook his head and swallowed another mouthful. He could feel the liquor warming him, easing him, relaxing him. He shifted, trying to make the ground more comfortable. "You like it?"

"What? Drinking?" He shrugged. "I'm doing it, aren't I?"

"That don't mean anything."

Face hesitated for a long moment. "I could think of things I'd rather do." He took a deep drag off his cigarette. "Drinking has a tendency to make people do really stupid shit. Especially if you throw a woman in there."

Murdock handed the bottle back. "Ain't that the truth. But you, a few buddies, an open sky... it's part of the whole atmosphere of relaxation. You know?"

Face chuckled as Murdock rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. "Atmosphere of relaxation? Sounds like a fucking commercial for a vacation in Hawaii."

"Nah. Just..." Murdock trailed off, and paused for a long moment before continuing. "So want do you do when you wanna unwind? What did you do back home?"

Face shook his head and took another drag. "I don't know. I had a few places I'd go to be alone."

Murdock turned his head with a brief snort of laughter. "If alone's your idea of relaxing, the Army - this place - must be hell. Hell, every time I've taken a piss, there's been other guys there."

Face chuckled. "I'm not really looking for a place to be alone out here. Not with the fuckin' sappers right outside the wire." He shrugged.

Murdock smiled. It wasn't enough alcohol to make him lightheaded, but something about all this felt restful. Homey. And that was so hard to come by out here. "So how do you relax?"

Face shrugged.

"Aw, c'mon," Murdock prodded with a laugh. "There must be something you have when all this shit is gettin' to you. Drink? Girls? Drugs?" He grinned, easy and mellow.

"I don't let it get to me. At least not out here." He took another drink and held up the bottle. "This shit puts me and Hannibal at odds. Never touched drugs except for what I needed to stay alive. And there ain't too many girls around here."

"What about that American nurse you were makin' pretty eyes at back at Plieku?"

"What about her?"

Murdock smirked. "She was one hell of a drug of choice."

Face looked away and put his head back, taking another hit off the cigarette. "For the moment," he agreed.

Murdock let out a sigh, and shook his head. "You know, Face? I don't know how you do that."

"Do what?"

"How do you just not let it get to you?"

Face shrugged again and studied Murdock for a moment, gauging just how drunk he was. Hannibal would have his ass if he liquored up their pilot tonight, and he knew it. "It's only hard if you think about it." He took one last hit off the cigarette and put it out in the red dirt.

Murdock pulled himself up and hugged his knees. "Which is why I couldn't do it without something to help me get away." Head down, he traced designs in the dirt with the tip of his finger. When he spoke again, his voice was more serious – sadder. "Sometimes I kinda envy you, you know?"

"Envy me?" Face asked, curious.

"I don't really know you," Murdock sighed, turning his head to look at him briefly. "I get that. But you... you're so good at this, man."

Face raised a brow and took another quick drink before handing the bottle across again. "Good at what?"

Murdock took the bottle and set it down between them, not drinking from it. He opened his mouth a couple of times, before closing it again with a headshake. "War," he finally answered. "Being who you need to be."

Face could sense the vulnerability. He could smell it a mile away. The only question was what he chose to do with it. There wasn't much to be gained from exploiting it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to get himself in that deep even if there was. Ever since Murdock had returned for his second tour, he'd been trying a little too hard to be friendly. Face didn't trust it.

"You do the same thing," Face pointed out. He paused, and continued cautiously. "Who you are out here ain't the same person you are at your mother's dinner table."

"Who I am..." He shook his head. "No, man. You don't even. I'm here because I have nowhere else to be. I tried to go back to the States and I couldn't. Couldn't cope…" He sighed deeply at the memory. Face was watching him carefully. "I don't know how long I'll be able to do this. And then what'll I have?"

Face laughed. "Then what? You're already asking then what? How short are you, anyway?" He shook his head. "You just signed on for a whole new tour, Murdock. You'll be lucky to be alive in three months and you know it damn well." Face looked away, and lowered his voice a little. "We all will."

"Sorry," Murdock apologized quickly. He shifted uncomfortably, eyes down. "Forget it. Just... I should go."

Face glanced back at him. "I won't stop you."

"Right." Murdock hauled himself to his feet. A part of him wanted to stay with Face, but he'd revealed too much already and wasn't even sure how. Maybe it was just… having someone to talk to again. He hadn't even been back in Vietnam a month, and already he had realized that Hannibal had been right – this place with these people was more like home than home was. But if he'd ever really known how to talk to Face – and he wasn't sure he ever had – he certainly didn't know how to do it now.

"I... Thanks," he tried. "For the scotch. And, uh… and the company. I... I like company. So if... Thanks."

Face nodded, and watched him retreat a few steps before lowering his eyes. "Hey, Murdock?"

He stopped and turned. "Yeah?"

Face hesitated a long moment, staring at the ground. Then, finally, he looked up again. "Just for the record, you've got no reason to envy me." He paused briefly, and lowered his head again. "The fact that you still need to forget where you are? That ain't a bad thing. If you live through this, you might actually be able to forget it. To become someone else. I envy you for that."

Murdock frowned. "Like you wouldn't be able to?"

Face didn't answer for a long moment. Then, finally, he looked up. He stared Murdock straight in the eye, brutally honest and completely sober in spite of the scotch. "Drink your booze, Murdock," he said quietly. "Fuck your women. But don't give up that part of you that still hurts. You might need it someday."

Murdock stared at him for a long moment, then turned away. Without another word, he rounded the corner of the ramshackle building and disappeared from sight.


	11. Chapter Ten

**CHAPTER TEN**

"What's the matter, Captain?"

Murdock was startled by the question, and the sudden presence of the man asking it, poking his head into the space between the two seats at the front of the Huey. "Sir?" he asked, confused.

"I said, what's the problem?"

Murdock frowned. "No problem, Colonel." He immediately checked all the instruments, but he knew they were all fine. It had been a smooth ride, and he expected that to continue. They were only doing surveillance; it wasn't even a combat drop. A nice switch - since they'd been doing nothing but combat drops since the successful POW camp raid almost a week ago.

"Are you sure? You've been awful quiet."

Murdock sighed. "Just tired is all." Over the loud rattling of the chopper blades, his voice was barely audible over the headset.

"Why? You went to bed before any of us."

Murdock sighed. That was true. It was also true that after the nightmares had woken him up, he'd left the hootch. He hadn't come back until after dawn, after a fitful night's sleep in the cargo bay of the Huey. Hannibal knew that too, he was pretty sure. At least, he knew that he'd left and not come back. He hadn't been there when Hannibal finally went to bed.

"You bring me up here to fly this bird or were you just tryin' to get me alone so you could interrogate me?"

"Would you be surprised if I said it was a little of both?"

Murdock rolled his eyes and shook his head slowly. Hannibal clapped a hand on his shoulder and moved back again, readying his camera as they approached their target area. "Take her down lower, will you, Murdock?"

Murdock keyed the mic, then tipped the nose down a bit, slowly descending towards the thick jungle trees. He didn't look back as Hannibal snapped photos, but he had the routine memorized. Five miles on any side of their probable target. They wouldn't know for sure what was down there until they saw it from the ground. Even the roads seemed to lead to nowhere, disappearing somewhere into the thick trees.

"So are you planning on answering me, Captain?"

He smiled faintly. "I'm thinkin' about it. But I'm pretty sure it ain't anything you'll be too terribly interested in hearing."

"Try me."

Murdock sighed. "Just… nightmares again."

"You could've let Snap fly this, you know."

"Nah, I can do it."

"You know, if you ever need a break…"

"I don't," Murdock said quickly. "I'm fine."

Hannibal paused. "If you _do_," Hannibal said again, "I want you to take it. Because sooner or later, Murdock, you will break down. The only question is whether you choose to do it gracefully, on your own, or you're forced to do it when you can't cope anymore."

Murdock stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "I'll keep it in mind, Colonel. I promise."

*X*X*X*

Face knew exactly where to find Cruiser. He knew the girl that Cruiser had been going to see by name, and knew which room they would be in, and in which brothel. Cruiser had known the same about him, though he'd taken up in a hotel since "Sue" perused the bars for her clients rather than work in a house where they came to her. Both girls were familiar. If they hadn't been, Face and Cruiser never would have split up. It was just safer not to go alone.

Face exchanged smiles with the woman at the door. He knew her. It was not his first time here. "Just here for Cruiser," he explained.

The woman smiled politely. "Ah, _Truong Uy _Peck. I show you."

Face knew where Cruiser was, but nodded at the friendly gesture, and paused for a moment to wait. Another girl took over the desk, and Giang walked with Face. She stopped him at the familiar stairs with a hand on his arm. "We go other way," she said. "Stairs wet. Just wash."

Face raised a brow, but he didn't argue. Giang was 4'2 and even if she was armed, Face was sure he could get to his gun faster. He'd known there were two stairways to the second floor – one at the front of the building and one at the back. He'd just never taken the one at the back. There had never been any need.

Cruiser would've been at the end of the hall with six rooms. But since they had gone up the back stairwell, he was the first door on the left. Face paused, and before he had a chance to knock or call out, he heard a strangled cry from another room, followed by a crash.

The reaction was instant and instinctive. Three long strides to the door, followed by a startled Giang. "No, no! _Truong Uy_, you not –"

Face barely heard her. Ear to the thin door, he heard muffled screaming. Not a woman. He didn't bother checking to see if the door was unlocked. He took a step back, grabbing his pistol from under his shirt, and kicked it in.

A startled Vietnamese woman, naked and straddling a struggling figure, looked up at him. Between her legs and all over the bed there was blood pooling. In her hands was a pillow, over the face of a man who had already lost too much blood to throw her off him. Before he'd lost his strength – how long had he been bleeding? – he'd reached for the lamp on the bedside table and knocked it to the floor. That had likely been the crash Face had heard.

Face took it all in. It took only seconds. He locked eyes with the woman, knew what had happened, and pulled the trigger. Hit squarely in the chest, she flew to the side and tumbled off the bed. Giang was on him immediately, frantic. "What you do! What you –"

He turned, and pointed the pistol at her. "Did you know about this?" he demanded.

It was a rhetorical question. Of course she knew about this. Nothing went on in this house that she didn't know about. But it sure was funny how quickly she lost her ability to speak English. As she rattled a string of angry Vietnamese at him, he could feel his patience slipping, overcome by anger as the man on the bed bled to death.

"You've got three seconds to give me a reason not to shoot you. One."

She continued in a language he only understood a few fleeting words of, eyes burning hatred.

"Two."

She took a step toward him. It probably wasn't an attack. At her size, she would've been stupid to try it. But it didn't matter. There was no question in his mind that she'd been a part of this. He pulled the trigger and she dropped like a stone, spattering his arm and face with her blood.

Cruiser was in the doorway. "Holy shit! Face! What the hell!"

Face lowered the gun calmly and wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve. By the time he looked away from the body that was bleeding on the floor, Cruiser was on the bed with the bloody, unmoving American soldier. He didn't ask again what had happened. As he looked up and exchanged glances with Face, he shook his head.

Face took a slow breath. "Go downstairs and call this into the base, will you? Get a couple of MPs out here."

Cruiser stood, noting the icy, emotionless tone in Face's voice. "You alright?"

Face shut his eyes and nodded. "I'm fine."

*X*X*X*

"You okay, kid?"

Face looked up at the sound of Hannibal's voice, then lowered his head again. Sitting against the cracked plaster wall, knees bent, cigarette in hand, Face wasn't sure on the answer to that question. "Fine," he tried.

Hannibal took one more glance around, watched as they took the bagged body of a Navy SEAL out the door, then sat down next to Face. Legs crossed in front of him, he just sat still, not speaking.

"I'm…" Face finally tried again. "Numb." He looked up at Hannibal, brow furrowed. "I don't know why."

"Yeah, you do."

Face studied him for a long moment, then looked away again and took a deep drag from his cigarette. "Always knew it would happen sooner or later," he whispered. "Hell, we even talked about it once or twice. Didn't think it would… bother me. Not after everything I've already done."

"I'd be more concerned if it didn't bother you, Lieutenant."

Face laughed, but it was without any hint of humor. "Fuckin' ironic."

"What is?"

"I was just telling Murdock the other night…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

Hannibal didn't press. After a moment of silence, he reached into his pocket for a cigar, lit it, and put his head back on the wall as he sighed. "This is a strange war, Lieutenant," he said softly. "This enemy sends their women and children to the front lines. There's nothing you can do about that. No way to change it. Enemy just… doesn't look like what you expect them to."

"I know she was guilty," Face said quietly. "I know what she did; I know she was VC; I know… They both were. They were both enemy and they both deserved to die and they would've killed me if they'd had the chance. But –"

"No," Hannibal interrupted. Face looked up at him blankly. "That's it. There's no 'but'. You did it, you don't regret it, and you'd do it again."

Face stared at him for a long moment before looking away. "I never said I regret it."

"Good." Hannibal's voice had taken on a hard edge. "Because you shouldn't. The enemy kills us, Face. And we kill them. Doesn't make a damn but of difference what they look like."

"I know. I just don't like what it means. I never did." Face sighed, and shook his head as if coming out of a trance. Finished with the cigarette, he put it out on the badly damaged wall behind him and leaned to drop the butt in the garbage can.

"I'm over it," he declared suddenly, rising to his feet. He adjusted the pistol in his belt, then offered a hand down to Hannibal.

"So." Face smiled as he pulled Hannibal to his feet. Whatever lingering emotions he still felt were covered over by a confident smile. "Now that I've interrupted your evening, where are we going tomorrow?"

*X*X*X*

"It could have just as easily been you, you know."

Cruiser looked at Face pointedly, not quite sure what the hell that remark was really meant to accomplish. "And it could have just as easily been _you_."

"The VC run those goddamn brothels." Face's voice was dead cold as he stripped his blood spattered shirt and left it on the cement floor beside his bunk. He raised his eyes and locked on Cruiser. "You know that."

Cruiser turned fully and watched Face for a moment. "Don't turn this into some pretentious self-satisfying tragedy."

"Self satisfying tragedy?" Face's tone dripped with cynicism.

"Could have been any of us. It's part of being in this fucking war."

"No. _You _don't get to turn this into some kind of proof that everything's peachy," Face shot back. "And for the record, you've never once caught me alone in a brothel. It's fucking suicide."

Cruiser raised his brow at that. "Yeah? How exactly is Sue these days, huh?"

"Sue was never in a brothel."

"Oh, did she get promoted?" Cruiser snorted his laughter at that. "You need a reality check LT. You fuck those whores just like everyone else."

"And the ones I do you personally know by name."

Face was glaring daggers at him. But he could glare all he wanted. His little cunt wasn't the exception to the rule just because he thought she somehow belonged to him.

"She's a whore. Past that you're arguing semantics."

"You're damn lucky Hannibal didn't actually say anything about us splitting up. You can bet he noticed it."

"How many times have you gone away with Sue by yourself?" Face wasn't getting around that if Cruiser had anything to say about it. "Why don't you go float that past Hannibal?"

"You bring me any proof of the fact that she's involved in the death of an American soldier and I'll shoot her myself," Face said, his voice ice cold. "That girl you fucked tonight knew exactly what was happening in the next room. They all knew. And it _could've _been you."

"Face." He took a step closer, his stare hard. This argument was stupid, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. "I have fucked more whores than I can count, and every one of them I clear."

"You know as well as I do, that's not a guarantee."

"Past that," Cruiser continued, ignoring him, "this entire fucking thing is liable to end at any time for any one of us. It's nothing to dwell on."

Face looked at him coldly, not backing down. "You get shot in the field, you die as a soldier. What the fuck are we supposed to tell your sister if you get killed for being _stupid _in Saigon?"

Cruiser growled, hackles raising as Face upped the stakes. Face grit his teeth. He still had blood on his hands and his face, and Cruiser could smell it on the shirt resting on the floor. So could Face. The smell of blood always seemed to do something to him. Make him darker, more primal and dangerous. And more unpredictable.

"You tell my sister that I died as a fucking soldier," he snarled, taking a slow step towards Face until he was almost nose to nose with him. "You wanna push this, Lieutenant? Do it."

Face's reaction was probably pure instinct, and Cruiser knew he was pushing for it when he walked right into Face's personal space. Without even a flicker of hesitation, Face grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him hard, off balance, eyes on fire as he waited for the counterattack.

Cruiser barely had his feet back under him when he threw the punch. It landed on Face's jaw, but Cruiser grabbed his neck before he had a chance to stumble back and in a flash, Face was against the wall. "You wanna do this?" Cruiser snarled. "Huh? 'Cause I got no problem putting you down."

"Fuck you, Cruiser."

He pulled Face off the wall just to slam him back again. "What I do in my time is my business. You have a problem with, go figure out someone else to tag along with."

Face pushed away from the wall just far enough to get his arm back, and drove his fist up and into Cruiser's jaw. Cruiser recoiled just enough for the blow not to completely land. it still hurt and it still made him stumble a bit. But he still had Face by the throat. Pushing him down, he kicked Face's feet out from under him and put a boot on his wrist before he had any thought of getting back up. Effectively pinned, Face looked back over his shoulder and glared daggers at Cruiser.

"Keep it up, Face," Cruiser dared him. "And I will plant you so fast you won't know what hit you."

Face didn't answer, only growled, and Cruiser knelt down, keeping his foot on Face's wrist. "Everyone dies out here and everyone dies a soldier. End of story. Got it? You wanna personalize this, that's your problem. But leave me the fuck out of it."

Face was breathing a little harder as he snarled viciously up at him. "_You _were the one who fucked up tonight, not me. Next time you run off to do your own fucking thing, just remember that it could've been you tonight."

"That fact has never changed, Lieutenant."

"Fine. Now get the fuck off of me before I court marshal your ass."

Cruiser raised brow at that, laughing. "You're gonna court marshal me?" He smiled wickedly as he leaned down closer to Face, lowering his voice. "Keep pushing and I'll give you a reason that will hold up."

"Fuck off," Face snarled. "I don't know why I even bother talking to you."

"Then don't."

Cruiser slowly raised himself up again but kept his foot on Face's wrist for a moment longer before taking a step back and turning away. Whatever agenda Face was trying to push, Cruiser wanted no part in it.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**Special thanks to Doc Spleenie. Her contribution to this chapter largely inspired this book.**

Cruiser stormed out of the team room before Murdock had a chance to open the door to walk in and shoved him so hard he nearly pushed him right into the mud. "The fuck outta my way."

Murdock caught his balance by gripping the edge of the door. Instinct made him want to ask what was going on, but Cruiser didn't look like he was terribly interested in talking. As he stormed away, Murdock walked into the team room.

He saw Face immediately - sitting on the floor by his bunk, shirtless and rubbing his wrist. "You alright?" Murdock asked, immediately and instinctively concerned.

"Just fine."

There was blood on the shirt he'd discarded on the floor, spatter still streaked across his face. He looked like hell, and angry to boot. He glared, as if he could burn holes right through Murdock. Nope, definitely not fine.

"Anything else?"

"Well since you asked…" Murdock took a few careful steps forward, letting the door close behind him. "What happened to you?"

Face rolled his eyes as he looked away as he dragged on his cigarette. "It was a rhetorical question, pilot. Sorry I didn't make that clear enough."

"Still, you're covered in blood. There has to be a reason for that. I mean, I'm glad it isn't yours, but whose is it?"

Face turned again, eyes flashing. "Does it _matter_?"

Murdock shifted uneasily. Aggression in and of itself was rarely enough to intimidate him. Even delivered by a man spattered with blood, it would've barely made him flinch. The uneasiness had nothing to do with intimidation, though he was pretty sure Face would read it that way. Really, he just wondered if he was getting into a conversation that was only going to make it even harder to connect with the already-hostile Green Beret. Face had never been particularly fond of him…

"I think it does," Murdock answered cautiously. "Obviously, you're upset. So what can I do to help?"

Face finished his cigarette and put it out on the wall before turning his back to Murdock and heading for his bunk. "Go to hell, flyboy." But the vicious anger that had laced his tone just seconds before was just a bit more resigned. Murdock was making progress.

"Hopefully not anytime real soon." Murdock paused as he took another few steps and sat down on the edge of his bunk. "I meant what I said. I do want to help if I can."

Face shot him a sarcastic look. "What are you gonna do? Get me a plane ticket _out _of this hell hole?"

"I'll fly you outta here myself if need be. But I don't think it'll come to that."

Face grabbed a bottle from under his bunk. Vodka or tequila, maybe. It sure as hell wasn't water. "Fuck you."

"Well, I'm just saying because I mean… you're free to go any time. You don't really need my help on that. But as long as you stay, why don't you let me help you? Tell me what the problem is."

"Look. Lemme make this crystal fuckin' clear for you, Murdock." He took a drink, and looked back up, locking eyes with the pilot. "We had a few drinks. We are _not_ close. We are _not _friends. My problems are _my _problems. Your problems are yours. Does that make sense to you?"

"We may not be friends, but we are on the same team. The _same_ team, Face. I am not your enemy." He sighed deeply as he watched the lieutenant drown in the bottle. "Look, I need a drink. Or a few drinks. Wanna join me?"

Face studied him silently, eyes narrowed, as if trying to determine his motive. Murdock knew it was a hard bargain. It was still well over a hundred degrees, and it was difficult as hell to sleep in that heat. The only hope he had of getting some shut eye tonight was to get some liquor in him, and the bottle in his hand was almost empty.

"Come on," Murdock prodded carefully. "Let's have a few. I don't know how much you've had, but there's always room for one more."

Face remained silent for a long moment, then finally stood. He closed the bottle and dropped it on the bed as he headed to the door, never taking his eyes off Murdock. "You're buying the first round."

Murdock smiled. Victory! "I was planning on it."

*X*X*X*

Face's vision was blurred with a haze of bloody, violent memories. Tonight was not a good night for drinking. Tonight was a night to crawl into a secluded, dark place and slit his wrists. But he'd chosen to drink instead. Four hours later, he'd had enough to intoxicate a half dozen men. Barely able to walk, he stumbled out of the bar, leaning heavily into Murdock as he struggled to find the pavement under his feet.

Confused and disoriented, Face's mind was swirling with visions and hallucinations. They mixed and mingled, indistinguishable from each other. Whispers of lovers and mutilated ghosts, screams of pleasure and pain. He'd made love to the sisters of the men he'd killed, to say nothing of the women themselves, and too many months of numbness and meaningless distraction had left him unable to even feel remorse.

"Hey's been a rough day." His voice sounded foreign, and he wasn't sure the words were coming out right. Part of the problem was that his mouth was not in full contact with his brain. "Wanna come back to m'hooch?"

A light throbbing low in his belly prompted him to press close to his companion in the hope of getting… what? Relief from the heat? A way to forget the horror of the day? A kiss? A grope? More? Did he even have a hope at all?

Murdock was not impressed. Face's sudden attentions, while flattering, were wholly unwelcome. He ground his teeth together, feeling his ire rise as body heat transferred back and forth between the two of them. It was so damn hot. Thick, oppressive heat that crept under their clothes, under their skin. It made him irritable; it made them all irritable. He wanted to sock Face one in the mouth for putting him into this position. Or maybe he'd just leave his ass here – let him find his own way back to the base. It was their last night in Nha Trang; Hannibal had already moved on to Kham Duc, to get a report from the camp's commanding officer and prepare for his team.

"Hmmm?" Face's drunken slur and a more pronounced attempt at feeling up Murdock's leg was answered with a shove that nearly sent the drunken man sprawling.

"What's wrong, Face?" Murdock sneered. "Your nurse du jour bail on you?"

Murdock could hear the venom in his tone and surprisingly, he didn't care. It was this damn sweatbox. It made it hard to care about anything. He knew he was overreacting to his friend's drunken, stupefied rambling, but they didn't call him Howlin' Mad for nothing. And the heat made him so damn uncontrollably tetchy. The slightest thing set him off.

Confused and unsteady on his feet, Face stared at him. "I jus' thought –"

"No thanks, _muchacho_," Murdock snapped. "Looks like it's just you and your hand tonight. That ain't my bag."

A muscle in Face's jaw jumped as Murdock turned back to the club, and a furious shadow darkened his eyes. Who did that lanky streak of piss think he was, talking to him like that? The last guy who spoke to him in that tone of voice ended up face down in the dirt with his nose blasted all over his face.

Still too drunk to stand up straight, Face still managed to make his words come out a little more pronounced. "That's not what I heard."

Face's voice rang out in the still night air and Murdock froze in his tracks. He turned around slowly, dangerously, to fix Face with a cold stare. His lip curled viciously again as he hissed, "What was that, Lieutenant?"

Face - drunk, belligerent, angry at being turned down so bluntly and ignorant of just how close Murdock was to the edge - drew himself up tall, fisted his hands on his hips and cocked his chin in challenge. "You heard. Fag."

Murdock was fast.

In the next instant Face was looking up at him from the flat of his back, with the other man's long-fingered hand wrapped tightly around his throat, threatening to cut off his air supply. Years of training were rendered useless by one too many drinks, and Face found himself helpless. Instinctively, he grabbed Murdock's wrists, but there was no way he'd pry that grip open.

Murdock's eyes had blackened in rage by the time he bared his teeth to spit, "That's a dangerous word to be throwing around out here, boy." He tightened his grip and Face's eyes bulged. "You know what the punishment is for calling a superior that, _boy_?" He pulled on Face's throat until his head left the ground, then slammed it back down again, hard enough for it to bounce; Face saw stars.

The adrenaline of being under attack was finally beginning to seep through the alcohol. Fight or flight instincts engaged and Face, his pride fuming at being treated this way - even by a superior - swung up a heavy booted foot to kick Murdock hard in the back. The taller man stumbled, relinquishing his hold on Face's throat.

Face scrambled into a crouch and tackled Murdock around the midsection, knocking him fully over this time. His fist found Murdock's face, but he'd aimed poorly and only hit the man's cheek. A second later, his own cheek was against the dirt, Murdock's heavy hand on the back of his head. Face breathed in the dust and nearly choked. His arm was twisted so far behind him, he realized it was going to break. But before the snap came, the weight on his back was suddenly gone.

Face scrambled to his feet, saw men on either side of Murdock, and rushed. He didn't think; he just swung. Hands grabbed his arms, but the combination of adrenaline and alcohol overruled logic. In the end, it took four men to hold him back, and another three to hold Murdock. Face could hear him yelling over the ringing in his ears, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. Dizzy and disoriented, the last thing Face saw before he passed out was the armband labeling the soldier standing next to him as military police.

*X*X*X*

"What the hell were you thinking!" Hannibal yelled.

Face and Murdock stood straight, jaws set and eyes forward. Neither spoke. Neither had anything to say.

"You are both officers! You shouldn't need to be supervised! What the hell were you even fighting about, anyways?" Even if either of the two men had an answer to that question, Hannibal didn't give them a chance to offer it. "Never mind; I don't want to know." He glared hard at them both, his own shoulders back in an authoritative posture. "But you have one hour to work it out. Then we are going to Kham Duc, where we are going to work as a team, and I don't want to hear another word about this incident. Do I make myself clear? Not a word!"

Two emotionless "yes, sir"s answered him, and he turned away. Face watched him go. It was unusual to see Hannibal angry. Of course, Face couldn't really blame him. Prepping for a mission was a lot of work, and being interrupted by the military police to come get half of your team out of the stockade would've pissed Face off too, if the tables were turned.

As Hannibal exited the hootch, both men broke posture. Face turned away immediately and walked toward the window. Murdock took a step back and sat down on the edge of his bunk. "It's the heat, you know," he offered quietly. "This goddamn 120 degree heat with 95 percent humidity…"

"We were drunk," Face said, his voice hard and emotionless. "Nothing we can do about it now."

"You were drunk," Murdock corrected. "I was perfectly sober."

"Alright, I was drunk," Face shot back. "Let's just leave it at that." The tone of Face's voice made it clear that he wasn't going to be able to just leave it at that.

"Why? Because you didn't mean it? Or because it didn't go like you wanted it to?"

Face turned to glare at him, a look of hate that burned hot in his eyes. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Murdock snorted and shook his head as he looked away. Face was going to play games? Fine. They could play games. "What in the hell do you think it means?" he demanded, looking back at the other man with a glare. "I'm asking what the fuck that was. I'm asking what the hell you were thinking and where you think we stand. _Comprende_?"

Face fought back the urge to simply turn and walk away. He might have done it if not for the fact that he was going to have to climb into a chopper with the son of a bitch in another hour and pretend like none of this had ever happened. An hour wasn't long enough to let it all blow over. In the back of his mind, Face gave thought to how much less pleased Hannibal would be if someone had to come pull them off of each other's throats a second time. He kept his anger in check.

"I told you," he said quietly, turning away again. The detachment crept back into his tone as he finished, "I was drunk. We stand where we always stood."

"So that's supposed to explain you makin' a move on me?" Murdock snapped. "Markin' me a... a deviant and a criminal where guys who just might care about that sort of thing can hear it? And then tryin' to make corn beef hash outta me? All because I turned you the fuck _down_?"

Face clenched his jaw. "You attacked me, remember?" He hoped he was right about that. He didn't remember much about last night, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't have thrown the first punch.

"And what the fuck do you think people woulda made of it if I'd let that comment pass?" Murdock cried. "I'm a goddamn captain! And an air jockey! You think I'm gonna let... you think I can _afford_ to let people - even drunk people – say stuff like that about me? To my face? You wanna get me killed?"

Face, his posture reeking of passive aggression, didn't look back. Staring out the window, still and silent, he didn't say a word. Was he even listening? "If I wanted to get you killed," he finally said, too calmly, "I could think of much more creative ways to do it."

Murdock growled, eyes narrowing into slits. "So any fallout from that bit of drunken repartee would be purely accidental? Funny enough, that don't give me much comfort. Or confidence in you." He paused just briefly and shook his head. "Man, what kind of shit are you on, Face? You got any respect for me at all? Not even my bars, Lieutenant. Me!"

Face was positive that was supposed to be another dig, but he didn't respond. In the window's reflection, he saw Murdock stand and pace in the opposite direction.

"Jesus. Man, you got problems."

Face smirked slightly. He'd heard that line before. He'd taken it, mulled it over, and found a place to put it a very long time ago. Now he put Murdock's voice on the shelf with all the others and just smiled. Better to smile than to cry. If he cried, they would know they hit a nerve... and Face hadn't cried for them in years. His eyes drifted out of focus as he stared out the window, pulling into himself, where it was safe.

"Go to hell," he answered quietly. "Sir."

"You really –" Murdock stopped pacing as he saw the other man's posture, and caught a glimpse of his reflection. That look in his eyes brought just a flicker of hesitation, made Murdock rethink his tone. He dragged his hands over his face, into his hair, tugging at it until it stood every which way. When he spoke again, it was softer. "Gonna hit me if I don't, Facey?"

Face growled - a low, dangerous sound. Like an animal baring its fangs, he turned to Murdock with white-hot fire in his eyes. "Don't fuckin' call me that," he warned. "You wanna pull rank? Pull it. I don't even fucking know you. Don't talk like you know me."

"Pull rank?" Murdock repeated incredulously, stunned by the sudden anger. "What the hell do you want me to call you? Peck? Templeton? For cryin' out loud…"

"Lieutenant works just fine," Face answered coldly. "You seem to be familiar with it."

Murdock shook his head, staring in disbelief. "You... I mean, right." He threw up his hands. "Right, apparently I don't know you at all. You know me, though, huh?" He turned away and paced a few steps. "Fuck it."

For just a moment, Face wondered if he would leave. It would make it so much easier if he just left.

"Look, just…" The frustration in Murdock's voice was even clearer than his words. "Where the hell is this all coming from? You don't want me hangin' around no more? Flyboys not good enough for you Special Forces types?"

Face gave a vicious snarl in his direction. "Now you understand."

As he turned his back again, looking out the window, Murdock snorted. "Yeah, right. What the fuck did I ever do to you?"

He knew it wasn't true; Face was just reacting, saying anything that came to mind. Anything he could think of that was hurtful. How could they even talk when he was acting like that? It was like arguing with a child. But Murdock knew better than to point that out. He wanted to de-escalate this situation, not make it worse.

Murdock sighed. "Look, Face?" He paused, and took a few steps toward him. "You're my buddy, my pal. Right?"

He held his hand out to Face - presumably for a handshake – but Face only glared out the window. "I'm not your friend, Captain."

Realizing that Face either wouldn't or couldn't meet him halfway, Murdock reached up and took hold of his shoulder, twisting him so he could look into his eyes. Bad move. The reaction was instantaneous, reflexive. Face grabbed Murdock's shoulder and his other hand rose - balled into a fist and pulled all the way back. His eyes blazed as he held his posture, prepared to lay Murdock out.

"Back the fuck off," he growled. "I was drunk last night. I ain't drunk right now."

Murdock actually took a startled step back, hands in the air. "You're fuckin'... You're actually serious," he realized slowly.

Face let go of his shoulder and lowered his fist. "You're damn right I'm serious."

Murdock shook his head, bewildered. "Man, Face. Do you wanna fuck me, hit me, or have nothing the hell to do with me?"

Face took a big step back, against the wall, but didn't turn his back to Murdock again. "Right now I'd settle for having you back the hell up," he growled.

Murdock stared. He'd sort of figured that much out with the threats and all. He stepped back again, and sighed as he looked away. "You know, Face," he said quietly, "the last thing I wanted out here was a friend. 'Cause you and I both know the chances that we're both goin' home alive when this is all over. But I'm willing to take that risk. Why the hell aren't you?"

Face looked away again, but he'd moved away from his window and now he didn't have anywhere to go. He moved, pacing across the room. "I don't need your fucking friendship," he spat.

Murdock's eyes narrowed. "Whose friendship do you need?" he demanded. "The colonel? Cruiser? BA?" He shook his head in disbelief. "No, you don't think you need anyone, do you? Well, you know what?" Murdock took a few steps and lay down on his bunk, booted feet crossed at the ankle, arms folded under his head, following Face with his eyes. "That's just too damn bad. You're not gettin' rid of me that easy."

Something inside of Face snapped. The words, the pose, the fact that this son of a bitch had suddenly grown so cocky as to tell him he had no choice but to accept something he didn't want – to feel something he refused to feel and take something into himself that he refused to take... Whether it was bad memories or bad blood, it made no difference. Face wasn't even aware of what he was doing until he had his pistol pointed in Murdock's direction. Only once he was staring over the barrel did the thought flash in his mind of what Hannibal would say if he happened to walk in right now.

Murdock grew still, but his eyes glittered with that dark light that had shown the night before. For a moment, it wasn't clear which of the two of them was crazier. "You could shoot me," Murdock said quietly. "I think the colonel would be kinda pissed though. You'd fuck his mission up if I'm dead and you're in the stockade."

Face stared at him, eyes cold. He couldn't back down. He held the weapon steady, very conscious of his finger on the trigger and the possibility of being startled. A gun was always loaded. A bullet was always meant to kill. What the hell was he doing?

"They might let you off on an insanity plea," Murdock shrugged. "I hear the psych ward at the VA ain't too bad. You could say I drove you to it. 'Cause you'd rather kill a guy than be his friend." Murdock smiled, with a calm that no man looking down the barrel of a loaded gun should have possessed. "Doesn't make much of a difference to me, Face. Even if I live through this nightmare, I got nowhere to go. I came here to die. Hell, I already died once. In that goddamn POW camp. Remember that, Face?" He paused, but not long enough to give Face a chance to answer. "No, maybe you don't remember. Maybe I'm still there and I'm hallucinating all this. Maybe you're a gook and you're finally gonna do it. So go ahead. What do I really got to lose?" His look darkened. "You'd be doing me a favor, Lieutenant. Pull the fucking trigger."

Face stood very still, watching him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he put the gun away. He didn't say anything as he walked a few paces and sat down on the edge of the bunk two rows over from Murdock. His expression was unreadable, like a blank mask that hadn't been decorated yet.

Murdock swung his long legs off the bunk and sat up, hands folded between his knees. "You musta had some really lousy friends, Face."

Face chuckled, but it was without humor. "You have no idea."

As soon as Murdock stood and took just one step toward him, Face got to his feet again, heading to a different window this time. He couldn't see where Murdock finally stopped, but at least he didn't follow him. He remained at a distance, and sighed deeply. "You know, sometimes I really think you just wanna self destruct."

Murdock wasn't sure he was even listening until he finally answered. "Self-destruction is easy. I didn't need Vietnam to teach me how to do that."

Face leaned forward on the frame and felt his pockets with shaky hands. He came up empty. Murdock watched him for a moment longer, then slipped his hand into his own pocket and pulled out two of his own cigarettes and Zippo. As he lit one, he stood and held it out to Face, not going any closer. "Want this?"

Face turned, and stared at it for a moment before crossing the few steps and taking it. Like a dog that didn't quite trust the hand, he immediately backed away again, raising the cigarette to his lips and breathing deeply on it. He never made eye contact. He never even looked anywhere close to Murdock's face.

"You know," Murdock sighed as he lit his own cigarette. "You're kinda like a candle. Or a cigarette." He dragged deeply and blew the smoke into the air. "People want you, are drawn to you. But you have no use for them - you just burn them or fill then full of smoke. But all the while, you're consuming yourself."

Face sighed. "That's very poetic."

"It's just that… it makes me sad." Murdock paused, studying him. "You make me sad. 'Cause you're this Face. But it's never a happy Face."

Face didn't answer and Murdock lowered his head, contemplating his words carefully before he finally spoke, so low Face could barely hear him. "Why did you want that last night?"

"I was drunk," Face reminded. "So drunk I couldn't even _think _straight or I never would've -"

"Yeah, and you weren't a happy drunk, or a sad drunk, and I've never taken you for an angry drunk before last night." He paused again, studying him. "Why not find a willing nurse? Would..." He swallowed hard. "Would fucking each other's brains out have made you happy?"

Face tipped his head back, eyes closed, dragging deeply on his cigarette and holding it in his lungs. Finally, he blew the smoke into the air. But he was still quiet for a moment longer. "You really think it's about sex?" he asked quietly. "You think I give a damn about sex?"

"Would _anything_ make you happy?" Murdock looked up at the man who was still leaning on the window frame. "For cryin' out loud, Face. I'd die for you without a second thought. If you don't know that by now…"

Face took another long drag, listening to the pilot's voice trail off. "'Happy' is a relative term," he answered plainly. "You see this war from the air. The top of the jungle and occasionally a red LZ. Bodies in the back of your chopper. But you have no idea the things I've seen. If you did, you wouldn't be sitting there like an idiot telling me to be happy."

"Oh, don't bullshit me, Face," Murdock replied firmly, ignoring the dig. "Whatever it is you lost, you lost it before you came out here and we both know it." He paused for a long moment, then sighed. "Someone once said war is hell," he continued quietly. "I figure that's all the more reason to grab whatever sliver of happiness - whatever humanity, kindness, affection... love - you can find and hold on with your nails and teeth and not let anything take it away from you."

Face sighed, and closed his eyes. "I don't even know what that shit is anymore," he admitted quietly.

"Aw, hell." Murdock rested his forehead on the heels of his palms. "You know, that name fits you. 'Face' fits you. 'Cause that's all you ever let - all you ever want - people to see." He shook his head. "If we were still people we'd weep. But we're not. So we have to put a face on it. Get drunk. Get high. Fuck anything we can. Anything to stop us from feeling…"

He sat - more collapsed - onto a bunk and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. A moment later, Face finally spoke, his tone almost conversational. "Know what the difference is between you and me, Murdock?"

Murdock looked up in time to see Face finish his cigarette and put it out on the cement wall. "Enlighten me," he sighed, taking one last hit on his own before dropping it on the floor and grinding it into the concrete with his boot.

Face turned, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back on the wall behind him, finally making eye contact with Murdock. "You still have to do things to stop feeling. All I have to do is," he shrugged, "wake up in the morning."

Murdock stared at him for a long, long moment. "I'd bet you wouldn't believe me if I said that was the saddest thing I've ever fucking heard, would you?"

Face chuckled.

"It amazes me that you…" His voice trailed off. "I just wanna kick you, or hold you or... anything to make you feel something. 'Cause I fucking care, and it's gon' drive me crazy."

Face smirked. "You're welcome to try it. You wouldn't be the first." He reached back and grabbed the cigarette butt off the ledge, crossing the room to drop it in the trash by the door. "Won't be the last, either."

Murdock sighed. "Yeah. I bet. Men and women, I'm sure. But how's about... what if I just wanted to be your friend? Would I be the first, then? Or is that not allowed?"

Face turned to look at him, skeptical and wary of anything that sounded so... personal. Murdock had no idea what he was getting into. "My own mother abandoned me on the steps of a church when I was five years old. And you want me to just... what? Believe you're different?"

Jesus! Had he really just said that? He forced himself not to look away as Murdock winced, recoiling as from a blow.

"Man, Face..." Murdock leaned towards him, reaching out one arm, looking like he was about to stand. But as Face's eyes narrowed, he pulled back, his hands in a surrender gesture. "Look. You called me a fag – in public, no less. You beat on me. You told me to go to hell. You pulled a gun on me. What more you gotta do? What more are you gonna do?"

Face's eyes remained cold. "Don't underestimate me, Murdock."

"I'm still here. And I ain't going nowhere. Promise. You pulled me out of the camp, man. I'll stand by you come... come gooks, hell, high water, enemy fire. I'm here and I'm staying and you'd better get fuckin' used to it. I ain't going anywhere."

Face gave a slight, cynical smile. "We'll see."


	13. Chapter Twelve

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Hannibal had gone ahead of the team to Kham Duc. But having been called away – back to Nha Trang on account of Face and Murdock - they were really flying blind. Before they could do anything, they needed a feel for the area. They'd only been in the camp for twenty minutes when the surveillance recon team had set out. At Hannibal's order, both Face and Cruiser had gone with them, to get a clearer layout of the area from the ground. BA would go with Murdock and fly over, and Hannibal would talk to the camp's soldiers and choose his men from among the Yards. It seemed a decent plan, all the way around.

"So that the hell happened back there?" Cruiser asked as they trudged through the jungle overgrowth. Recon in South Vietnam – especially so close to an American camp – was very different from recon in Cambodia. It was still dangerous; the VC carried AK-47s no matter where they patrolled. But it was suicide to approach an A-camp in small numbers. This wasn't "their" territory.

"What happened back where?" Face asked. He was still very much aware of his surroundings. But with a cigarette in one hand – an American cigarette, not the Asian ones they took with them across the border - and his CAR-15 in the other, he was about as relaxed as he could get under the circumstances.

"Back where?" Cruiser repeated with a laugh. "You got arrested, man. Remember that?"

"It was nothing."

"Nothing, my ass. You go so far out of your way to stay out of fights –"

"I don't want them on my record," Face interrupted. He cast a sideways glance at the man walking beside him. "I was drunk; I wasn't thinking."

Cruiser raised a brow. "So it ain't true?"

Face frowned. "What isn't?"

Cruiser smirked as he faced forward again, eyes doing a routine sweep before they settled on the Vietnamese team leader in front of them. "Apparently, Murdock used to spend a lot of time in Nha Trang," he said. "Don't ask me why, but a lot of the guys over there know him. You sure got 'em talking."

Face sighed deeply. Shit… "No," he answered firmly. "It's not true."

Cruiser nodded, but didn't say anything more.

"_Truong Uy_?"

Face looked up at the Vietnamese designation of his rank and stepped closer to him as the team came to a stop. The man pointed through the trees at the huts just visible over the ridge. "That _moi _village," he informed him.

Face ignored the derogatory term for the Yards. The animosity between the two classes was mutual, he knew. "Is it still occupied?"

"Yes. They come one time," he held up his finger, "to camp. Medicine. They not come back. Not stay."

Face studied the huts for a long moment, and noticed the dark-skinned people walking between them. It was no surprise that the Yards were uninterested in the camp. They felt no allegiance to the South Vietnamese government, and certainly not to such an abstract entity as "America." But they were valuable – more valuable than ARVN would ever care to admit. They were mercenaries, and they were damn good at it. Their natural inclination was to fight the Vietnamese – with only slightly more disdain for the northern variety.

However, one did not simply waltz into a Montagnard village and recruit soldiers. There was an etiquette, an art to it. Face happened to be very good at it.

"Do you mind if we stop?" he asked. He glanced at the team of LLDB soldiers, and Cruiser. "Is there anyone who can translate?"

Only blank stares answered him. "Ah, nevermind." He pointed to the team leader before starting toward the huts. "You come with me. Cruiser, you comin'?"

Cruiser followed, and the Vietnamese lieutenant. The rest of the LLDB followed only as far as the edge of the jungle clearing, then sat down to wait. "Maybe they've got someone who can speak Vietnamese," Cruiser mused quietly. "You never know."

"Or French," Face added.

Cruiser shrugged. "That's true, too."

They attracted attention immediately. Wide-eyed stares and frightened glances alike. They'd only made it a few steps into the village, past scurrying ducks and chickens, when they were met by several men who looked less than thrilled to see them. Face smiled.

"Hi," he greeted casually. "We're Americans. You've been to our camp once. _Quelqu'un ici parle-t-il français?_"

The men stared at him, and at the weapon on his shoulder. Then they stepped aside, and one of them pointed. "Ah, thank you."

While one of them led the way, the others followed as they were escorted to a communal longhouse on stilts. A shriveled man sat on the steps, eyeing them carefully as they came closer. He was sizing them up. Face could feel it, almost like a physical sensation. He didn't let it unnerve him. This was the village chief, sitting with an old pipe resting in the gap where he was missing a tooth. For a long moment, he said nothing, just puffed on the pipe. Then, finally, he gestured for them to come closer.

"_Parlez-vous français?_" Face asked hopefully.

"I English," the man answered firmly.

"Oh, even better," Face chuckled, surprised. He gestured his introductions quickly. "I'm Lieutenant Peck, this is Sergeant Harrison, and Lieutenant Vuong."

"Why you here?"

Face could sense the animosity, but he couldn't put his finger on why. It wasn't the guns; they weren't afraid. It was more personal. "Well, see, Sergeant Harrison and I are visiting the camp that's just a little ways from here. I do a lot of trading, buying, selling… I was wondering if you would be interested in doing business, and what kinds of things you might be interested in dealing. Anything you'd like, I can get it."

"You American?"

Face nodded. "That's right."

The chief scoffed. "American come here," he said distastefully. "Dig water."

"A well," Face corrected with a smile. It must have been some kind of civic action team.

"Trade new pipe," the chief continued, taking the pipe from his mouth. "No come back. Bad trade."

"Oh!" Cruiser interrupted. Face turned to stare at him. Cruiser thought quickly on his feet. This time, he was quicker than Face, who was still trying to make sense of the fragmented English when Cruiser stepped forward. "So _you're _the chief we've been looking for!" He laughed. "We've got your pipe. We don't have it with us right now; it's back at the camp. But we didn't forget. Because of the war – and you, being a chief, surely understand - these things just take time. We'll bring it to you tomorrow. Is that okay?"

The chief eyed him warily. Face smiled, and gave a slight laugh as he played along. Nothing like a deadline, out here in the middle of nowhere. "Tomorrow," the chief nodded.

"Great," Face answered. "We'll see you then."

As he turned to leave, Cruiser and the LLDB lieutenant on either side of him, he chuckled quietly. "Nice, Cruiser. Almost as good as the Russian routine when they didn't realize we were Americans."

Cruiser snickered. "_Nothing _was as good as that," he replied. "And you'd just better be able to get this guy his pipe before tomorrow afternoon."

"I'll get it," Face assured him. "I'm more worried about finding the time tomorrow to come back out here."

*X*X*X*

Face set three pipes and two cans of Prince Albert tobacco on top of the bar as he sat down. Murdock stared at it curiously. "In the mood to feel dignified?" he guessed.

Cruiser leaned forward to look around him. "Oh, hey, you got it!"

"Yeah." Face poured a shot of whiskey, pushing the items aside. "The Arc Light is set for noon, and we'll be going up with them. If we're going back to the village, we'll need to go early."

"What do you think about this job?" Cruiser asked.

Face threw the shot back. "I think it's dangerous as all hell."

Murdock frowned. "How so?" he asked. "You're dropping into an area that's been _leveled_ by B-52s shortly before you got there."

"Yeah, and think about it," Cruiser chuckled. "Just prior to you showing up, that target was thought to be so full of enemy soldiers to actually justify hitting it with an Arc Light strike. Now the dust has just settled and everyone's coming out of their holes - and here you are landing right there in the middle of hundreds, maybe thousands, of _royally _pissed off enemy troops."

"I don't like it," Face said firmly. "I'll _do_ it, but I hate it. I think it's stupid and pointless."

Cruiser laughed. "Tell it to Hannibal."

"Oh, Hannibal loves it," Face answered. "But even he won't disagree with me that the risk outweighs the reward. It's stupid."

Murdock raised a brow. "Why?"

Face glanced sideways at him. "You ever see an Arc Light strike?"

Murdock smirked. "Hey, those are myguys you're talkin' about, remember?"

"Okay. So when you drop two thousand bombs on a five square mile area, you're going to kill everything that's on the ground. You don't need to send a team down there to pull triggers."

"Except the enemy is _under _the ground," Cruiser sighed. "And they come out like hornets that just got their nest whacked."

"Or there's nothing even there because the intelligence was old or just plain wrong." Face sighed deeply. "So either there's no point in you being there – because they're all dead or they weren't there to begin with - or you go in and start shooting it out with a really pissed off enemy that vastly outnumbers you."

Murdock raised a brow. "Well if that's the case – if they're not there or they're all safe underground - why call the strike in the first place?" he challenged. "Why even bother?"

"Oh, I'm all for air strikes," Face said. "Hell, I've called them. By all means, bomb the hell out of anything that moves – especially if it's by the Ho Chi Minh Trail. It clears the jungle so we can see the damn thing, and makes it harder for them to get around. Just don't set me down in the goddamn craters. It'll almost always lead to a Prairie Fire, and wounded or dead soldiers."

"Because unless by some magnificent stroke of luck," Cruiser continued, "we happen to hit them at a time when they're casually wandering around the surface, an Arc Light only makes things moredangerous – not less so."

Again, Face sighed. Then he went back to the bottle.

"You know what I've been thinkin'?" Cruiser mused quietly.

Face poured his glass, then Murdock's. Cruiser's was too far to reach. "What?" he asked, only mildly interested.

"I should really think about goin' back to the States and doin' OCS."

Face paused, mid-drink, and shook his head at the sudden change of topic. He finished his gulp before answering. "Good luck with that," he said dryly.

Cruiser laughed. "Oh, come on. It couldn't be any worse than basic."

Murdock and Face exchanged glances. Cruiser frowned. "Or Phase One?" he tried.

Face gave a slight nod. "Not worse than Phase One," he granted.

"Phase One?" Murdock asked, curious.

"It's where they try to weed out the people who don't _really_ want to be Special Forces," Face explained, finishing the last of his drink and setting the glass on the counter. "They do a pretty good job, too."

"Man, I will never forget," Cruiser reminisced, "the first time they handed me a live chicken and said, 'You got one hour to kill, cook, and eat.'"

Murdock raised a brow, amused. "Seriously?"

"Oh, yeah," Face chuckled. "That got to be sort of second nature by the end of it all."

"Sort of like survival training with a twist?" Murdock grinned.

"Well, for our survival training," Cruiser said, "they dropped us in the middle of a fuckin' swamp with next to nothin' for gear, and gave us a deadline."

Face laughed. "Yeah. Twelve hours of hiking to the spot they picked for helicopter extraction."

"And then lo, and behold…"

"No helicopters."

"Yeah," Cruiser smirked. "Your helicopters have been shot down. It's 0200, black as hell, in a fuckin' swamp, and you got 'til 1200 hours to make it back to the rendezvous point 25 miles away."

Murdock whistled low. "Shit…"

"And if you made it there one minute late, you were disqualified from the program."

"Did they force a lot of guys out?"

"My class started with fifty," Face recalled. "Ended with seven."

"We had fifteen," Cruiser recalled. He glanced at Face. "How'd you get seven? That's a weird number."

Face took another drink. "At the end of that hike, one team made it back and one team made it back five minutes over." He held his glass loosely between his fingers as he glanced at Cruiser and Murdock. "They had a guy wounded on the twenty-first mile. He compound fractured his leg. They stopped to dress it. Then they carried him the rest of the way."

"They didn't pull him out for that?" Murdock asked, stunned.

"They didn't pull us out for nothin'," Cruiser answered. "We didn't even have _contact _half the time."

"Anyways, when the team made it back, they were five minutes late. So the Sergeant looked at them and said, 'Well, the base is twenty miles,'" he pointed, "'that way. Anyone who really wants to wear that beret, get walking.' Two of them gave up right then and there. Two days no sleep, no food, minimal water, hiking through the swamp for fifty miles - they knew they couldn't make it another twenty." He lowered his head, staring at the amber liquid as he swirled it in his glass. "The other two started walking. About a mile down the road, the Sergeant pulls up in a Jeep and says, 'Congratulations, Green Berets.'"

Murdock smirked, noting the almost wistful tone in Face's voice. "That was you," he guessed.

Face glanced at him and smiled. "Yeah, that was me."

"So why'd you do it, man?" Murdock asked, curious. "What made you keep walkin'?"

"Easy," Face answered, tipping up the glass and draining the rest of it. He set it back down on the bar top with a loud clack and stood to his feet. "I had nowhere else to go."

He walked past without another word, clapping Murdock's shoulder as he passed. He was outside the club by the time he realized Cruiser was following. "You think he gets it?" Cruiser asked, hands in the pockets of his fatigues as he flopped lazily down the steps.

"Hey, you were the one who brought it up," Face reminded, reaching for a cigarette. "OCS isn't a cakewalk either. They just don't force as many of their people out. Especially when they're hurting for officers over here."

"I never figured it'd be fun," Cruiser shrugged. "But compared to this shit? Sounds like a fuckin' thirteen week vacation."

Face hunched over his cigarette as he lit it, shielding the flame from the breeze. "Like Phase One?" he smirked as he flipped the lighter closed.

"We never got shot at in Phase One," Cruiser pointed out with a grin.

Face took a long drag. "So go to OCS, Cruiser. What's stopping you? Hannibal would let you go. He wouldn't like it, but he'd sign your papers."

"Yeah…" Cruiser sighed wistfully, letting his voice trail off as he studied the night sky. "You know, it's funny. I think I'm actually gonna miss this place."

Face laughed. "That's assuming you live long enough."

"Oh, come on. Haven't you heard, Face?" Cruiser turned to look at him, and smirked as he reached for his own cigarettes. "The war's over. We lost."


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

"[Get them over there!]"

"[Move! Move! Go!]"

"We could take them, Hannibal."

Face's whisper was tense. Pressed down in the mud, guns ready, Hannibal did another count. This camp was at least three times as big as they'd prepared for, and twice as fortified. The nice little POW snatch he'd arranged was blowing up in his face. He'd put it together for the sole purpose of easing his irritable Lieutenant after the BDAs that he'd been so cooperative with as of late. But with where this looked like it was headed, he had a feeling that wasn't going to work out so well.

"There's no way, Lieutenant."

Face grit his teeth so hard Hannibal could hear them grind. "What do you mean, no way? Since when is there ever no way?"

Hannibal turned to look at him. "We can attack the camp, Face, and we could probably even take it if we planned it right. But every POW in there is going to get caught in the crossfire. You know that."

Of course he knew that. He wasn't new at this. "So what are we supposed to do?" he demanded.

"They're getting ready to move them," Hannibal said. "We've got enough supplies for four days and they'll travel on the road. We can set up an ambush."

"What if they -"

The sudden rattle of AK-47s actually made Hannibal jump in surprise. His grip tightened on his rifle and he had it ready in a flash. His eyes locked on his targets just in time to see what they were shooting at. They weren't moving the prisoners. They were executing them.

For a moment, he was too stunned to react. It was Cruiser's voice that snapped him out of his silent shock and awe. "Holy hell, Colonel."

"Alright," Hannibal said, his voice ice cold. "Pull back so we can organize. We're gonna take this camp. And burn it to the fucking ground."

*X*X*X*

Half-drowning in a bottle of vodka, alone in the officer's club, Face neither knew nor cared what time it was. He knew it was dark outside, and he knew they were leaving in the morning for some god-forsaken base on the border of Laos. He should be sleeping. He wasn't. He also knew it was raining. It was always raining. Damn monsoon rains - sheets of gray and rivers of mud. The weather complimented his mood, at the moment.

He poured another shot, threw it back, and dropped his head forward as the glass clacked down on the bar top. His throat burned, and his head was starting to hurt, but the haze still hadn't fully taken over. He could still think. He didn't want to think.

Westman had been understanding – even sympathetic. He hadn't blamed them for the failure. There was nothing they could've done. Face knew that. It didn't make the failure easier to choke down. It was like Bright Light for dead bodies, only worse. The stakes were higher, the risk greater. And there was no reward. No reason. At least with Bright Light, they usually knew if they were going to bring back bodies. There was never any expectation that they'd be able to bring back a living, breathing soldier. This time, there had been expectation. And the simple fact of the matter was, they'd failed. He hated that. Despised it. Even if it couldn't have been helped.

Face didn't look up as the door of the club opened. A couple of seats away, Murdock sat down at the bar. Face groaned inwardly, turned his head away, and poured another shot. Murdock was just about the _last _person he wanted to see right now. What the hell was he even doing up at this time of night? Face was pretty sure that wherever they were going tomorrow morning, Murdock would be flying them. And Hannibal would leave early.

Face sighed. "Know where we're going yet?" If anyone would know – besides him - he'd hope the pilot would.

"No." Murdock took a slow drink from his beer. "I was hoping maybe you did."

Face shook his head, but didn't answer. He could feel Murdock's eyes on him as he poured another shot.

"So you don't know where we're going? Or you're not telling?"

Face's patience was short, and the taunt in Murdock's voice, however subtle, was enough to set him off. "The fuck is your problem?" he snapped. "Rough day of horseshoes, flyboy?"

Murdock stared down into his glass. "Rough day at the whorehouse?"

Face stood, nearly knocking his chair over in the process, and turned to Murdock, eyes blazing. "You wanna fuckin' start something with me?"

Murdock glanced up, and held his gaze for a long moment, but there was no challenge in it. Murdock wasn't trying to pick a fight. "Sorry," he relented.

Face glared at him for a long moment, back straight, fists still clenched, debating whether or not he was going to accept that as an answer. Finally, he unclenched his fists, grabbed the bottle, tossed some money on the counter, and headed for the door.

The pouring rain drenched him within the first two steps. Damn it, he hated the rain. But now that he was wet, what did it really matter? With one hand on the wall, he stumbled to the side of the building and slid down the wall into the mud. Dizzy and disoriented, he felt his pockets for his cigarettes, then his lighter. Both were drenched almost instantly. After several hopeless attempts to light the cigarette, he growled and reached for another one that wasn't quite so wet. Had he been a little more sober, he might have figured out that it wouldn't stay dry for long either once he took it out of the pack.

"You know, that's difficult in the rain." The voice was unexpected, and unwelcome. "Wanna come inside? I got a pack that's not soaked."

Face growled, muttered an offhanded "fuck you," and tried a few more times before he finally threw the unlit cigarette as far as he could. He dropped the lighter on the ground as he reached for the bottle again.

Murdock cleared his throat as he turned and leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. "I don't know what happened with you guys today; I was stuck on base. But I am willing to listen."

Face put his head back on the wall, eyes shut. "Aww." His voice dripped sarcasm. "That's very sweet of you."

Murdock smirked. "I get that all the time."

Face opened his eyes, rolled them, and raised the bottle. "Can't imagine why." He took another drink. Damn it, he wished the alcohol would just take over already. "Look. What do you want, flyboy? It's almost midnight and we're leaving tomorrow. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"I slept yesterday."

Face ignored him, staring off in the opposite direction. He didn't want to talk. Least of all to Murdock. But as the silence lingered, it was clear that the pilot wasn't going anywhere. "So what do you want?"

Feet slipping in the red mud, Murdock slid down the wall. "I want a steak and a warm bed. Preferably with a woman in it. But I'll settle for you telling me about your day."

Face frowned, glanced at him. "Watched a bunch of POWs get shot today. And we couldn't do a damn thing about it."

Murdock nodded slowly, dropping his head forward. "Sorry."

"Happens."

"Did you know any of them?"

"No. No Americans. They were already dead."

Murdock eyed the near-empty bottle in Face's hand and wondered, in the back of his mind, if Face was intending to finish that whole thing. He seemed to be working his way through it rather quickly. "People try to save their buddies all the time, but trying to save people you don't even know…"

Face glanced at him, brow raised. But Murdock seemed sincere, if a bit off-base. After a moment's pause, Face looked away again and took another drink. "Westman's orders. Doesn't matter if I knew them or not."

"Hmm." Murdock leaned forward and untied his boots. "Does that mean that if Westman orders it you'll try to save my ass even though you hate me?" He gave a brief glance at Face – a quick smirk that was answered with Face's blank stare.

"I'd save your ass if it came to that whether Westman ordered me to or not," Face finally answered, his voice ice cold. He turned his head away as he finished emotionlessly, "You're on my team."

"But you'd still hate me?"

"I never said I hated you."

"You don't have to."

"Trust me, if I hated you, I'd be happy to tell you."

"I might be crazy, but I ain't stupid. You might not hate me, but you're pretty damn close. I just want to know why."

Face hesitated, turning back to study Murdock for a long moment. "I just don't get along too well with chopper pilots," he finally said. "Simple as that."

Murdock nodded slowly. He'd had a sneaking suspicion, for a long time, that he hadn't really done anything to deserve the cold shoulder he'd been getting from Face since day one. It was actually a relief to have it confirmed. Even if he didn't have a clue as to why, Face seemed to have more of an issue with Murdock's job description than with him, personally.

"What about chopper/airplane pilots?" Murdock tried. "Or chopper/jet pilots. Choppers aren't all I fly you know."

Face glared at him. "Don't get fuckin' cute with me."

Murdock smiled "Nothing I can do about being cute. Born that way, I guess. Nothing I can do about being a pilot, either. That doesn't mean you have to _almost_ hate me."

Face growled. "Look. How 'bout you mind your business and I'll mind mine?" He stood, and ran a hand through his dripping-wet hair. "That way it really doesn't matter how I feel about you."

Murdock rose beside him. "What if I don't want you to hate me, Face?" he challenged. "Or even almost hate me."

Face sighed, and rolled his eyes. "The hell, Murdock…"

"Okay, so whatever I did – or whatever some _other _chopper pilot did – to piss you off… I'm sorry, okay? Will you please just give me a chance?"

As Murdock took a step closer, Face shoved him. It was hard enough to knock him off balance but not enough to start a fight. Murdock didn't retaliate, and Face glared at him.

"Just stay out of my way, flyboy," Face warned. "And we'll get along just fine."

Murdock heaved a deep sigh, but stepped aside as Face pushed past him, in the general direction of the team room.

***X*X*X***

Hannibal was leaning against the sandbagged wall that protected the entrance of the team room with an unlit cigar in one hand and a beer in the other, hat pulled down over his face to block the sun that he appeared to be sleeping in. Probably not asleep. He'd just gotten their next mission orders – less than 24 hours after they'd gotten back from Laos. It was far more likely that he was thinking. Hence the cigar. And the barely-touched beer. Murdock approached carefully and sat a respectful distance away. He didn't want to intrude.

Hannibal didn't open his eyes, remove the hat, or otherwise move in the least. But after a few moments of silence, he casually asked, "Something on your mind, Captain?"

Murdock reached into his pocket for a cigarette. "Do you have the word on where we're going next, Colonel?" He knew he did. And he wasn't really prying. It didn't make that much of a difference for him. Just a conversation starter…

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, still unmoving. Then he tipped the hat back and shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked over at Murdock. "Why? Got a date somewhere?"

It was almost teasing. _Almost_. Murdock kept his eyes diverted, watching him in his peripheral vision as he flicked his lighter. "No. I was just curious."

Hannibal hesitated. "Saigon," he finally answered. "Some joint Agency operation."

Murdock frowned. "Oh. Those… never seem to end well."

Hannibal smirked. "I don't have details, but it sounds like it's a hell of a good time." There was a wild glint in his eyes as he considered the "good time" to be had by all.

Murdock forced a smile in return. "Any idea how long we'll be out?"

Hannibal laughed. "So about that _date_..." He grinned.

"No, no, no, it's just that if we..." He trailed off, and took a deep drag off of his cigarette. His brow furrowed as he collected his thoughts. Small talk was getting him nowhere. "Colonel, why do I feel like I'm in the way here?"

Hannibal frowned, and sat up straighter, putting his entire back to the sandbags instead of just his shoulders. "Oh, so you've been talking to Face." He didn't look at Murdock as he lit his cigar.

Murdock sighed. "Sort of. Mostly, Face was talking to me."

Cigar lit, Hannibal clicked the lighter closed and put it back in his pocket. "You know, he really _is_ glad to have you back."

Murdock laughed cynically. "He's got a funny way of showing it."

"When we found out you were still alive, it took him all of two hours to get all the information the military _and _the Agency had on that camp and organize your rescue."

Murdock hung his head, not quite knowing what to say. "Yeah, well. I think he might be regretting that right about now."

"I doubt that." Hannibal studied him carefully. "This about the incident the other night?"

Murdock averted his eyes. "I don't know, sir. I just think he'd prefer it if I didn't fly the team. Ever. The incident the other night certainly didn't help."

Hannibal chuckled. "Trust me. He'd rather have you flying than anyone else."

"Only 'cause he doesn't have a choice." Murdock winced. He was thinking it, but he hadn't meant to actually _say _it. His heart raced in his chest as he cursed himself and his failure to think before speaking.

"Oh, he has a choice." Hannibal studied him for a long moment. "It was a team agreement to bring you onboard in the first place. And it was a team agreement to do whatever was necessary to get you out of that camp, damn the risks. It may have been my decision to come find you, but I wouldn't have done it without the team's consent and approval. We were all culpable if we failed. Don't think he didn't have a choice."

Murdock's brows furrowed. "If he agreed to bring me on board and rescue me from the camp, then why does he still hate me?"

Hannibal hesitated, took a few puffs off of his cigar. "It's not personal, Murdock. In case you haven't noticed, he's the same way with Snap. He's got more of a problem with your position than with you. Hell, I give him credit that he's making as much of an effort as he _is_."

Murdock nodded. "I know he hates 'flyboys'. I get that. I just can't understand why he hated _me_."

"Murdock, if he hated you, he might've still gotten you out of that camp out of a sense of obligation and moral right and wrong. But don't think that you'd still be on this team. He _did_ have a say. And he still does." He paused briefly. "Where is all of this coming from? What the hell is going on between you two?"

"He just seems show me all of the affection you'd show a canker sore."

"If you're looking for affection, you're not going to find it from Face."

"Not physical affection, sir," Murdock clarified, firmly.

"Not what I meant."

"I just don't want be treated like I have a disease. Or more like I _am_ the disease. I don't want to evoke feelings of disgust."

Hannibal sighed. "Murdock, if you're going to try and change the feelings you evoke from _anyone_, you've got to realize the battle you're in for. Maybe you should let this one go..."

It was almost a question, quiet and serious. Definitely not an order. Murdock rested his head against the wall. "So why am I in this battle at all? Why does Face hate chopper pilots?"

Hannibal hesitated a moment before he answered. "September 68, we were on a recon drop near A Ro. He was shot, and the AC who was supposed to come get us ignored orders from Covey, and from us, and refused to come in because he was afraid. Face almost died. _Should've _died, by all counts. Or at the very least, lost his leg. He's been understandably wary ever since."

Murdock was quiet, considering that. "I guess I'd be upset, too." He had never considered that fact that Face might actually have a good reason for his hatred. "But you know that's not going to happen again. Not with me."

"I know that. He knows it, too." Hannibal smiled sadly. "But old habits die hard, Captain."

Murdock stared for a long moment at the ground, and a slight smile crept across his face. "Then I guess I'll just have to wait him out."

If Murdock hadn't known it before, he certainly knew it now. It really _would_ be a battle of wills.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

"For the past three months, we've been watching this area right here pretty intensely."

Hannibal reclined comfortably as he chewed the end of his cigar, studying the map hanging on the wall. It was the only thing familiar in the spacious office, and he was trying to focus on it. The two men – one a colonel and the other an Agency ex-sergeant – who were giving the briefing, he'd never met. The large desk with family photos, the comfortable chairs, and every attempt to make the room look like it was an office anywhere but in Vietnam… that was unfamiliar too.

Dressed in the same fatigues he'd worn on the chopper ride into Saigon - which had been drenched with sweat hours ago – boots still caked with mud, skin covered with that sticky film of sweat and dirt and dust, he was acutely aware that he was the one thing here that didn't fit. Well, he and the man who was sitting beside him, concentrating intently on his fingernails with only a quick glance up at the map of Laos.

"The enemy presence in the area increases and decreases from time to time, but the bottom line is, something pretty major is going on there."

"I'm assuming you did a flyover and saw nothing," Hannibal said, reclining as he studied the area on the map that the much older colonel was pointing to. "Did you send in a recon team or is that what we're here for?"

"Yes and no."

Face glanced up again, and took his attention off of his hand as he reclined, putting his foot up on his opposite knee. "Well, which part of it is yes and which part is no?" he asked pointedly, with a smile that was exceedingly polite.

He didn't like being here, and Hannibal knew it. Whatever had served to shape his opinion of the Agency, it had firmly established that opinion on a pretty low level. He'd actually been enthusiastic about briefing in Saigon – it usually meant something interesting – until he'd heard that it was actually an Agency operation. Luckily, Hannibal didn't mind it. He'd been working with Agency high-ups almost since he'd set foot in Vietnam.

Colonel Venier studied Face for a long moment. Clearly the impatience had not escaped him, even though it was carefully masked under calm, military formalities. "Are you familiar with the term 'Italian Green', Lieutenant?"

Face didn't miss a beat. "Code name for booby-trapped munitions and supplies."

Hannibal was glad Face had been asked that question instead of him. Not because he was unfamiliar with the project, but because he wasn't sure he could keep the disgust out of his response the way that Face had managed to. Hannibal's opinion of IG inserts ranked right up there with Face's opinion of BDA.

"Have you ever done an IG insert?" the Agency ex-sergeant asked Face pointedly.

Face's returning glare was just as direct. "No. But I've lost friends who have."

Apparently Face's opinion of IG inserts was akin to mine.

"Our recon teams have located large enemy stashes of munitions and rice all along this corridor," Colonel Venier continued, ignoring the exchange. Or perhaps he didn't see it. "Part of your assignment to sabotage the munitions."

"Any particular reason why we don't just bomb the hell out of it?" I demanded.

"Or why you need us?" Face added without giving either of them a chance to respond. "IG inserts might be dangerous, but they're standard missions out of CCN."

Colonel Venier glanced at Face, then back at Hannibal. "As I said, the IG insert is _part _of your assignment. The other, and more critical part, has to do with propaganda. And it's a bit more complicated."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed. He didn't like the sound of that. Propaganda and Agency involvement always led to something very messy and usually not very effective. And it was always complicated. Nevertheless, he waited for the story to continue, saying nothing.

"In addition to these dumps, our recon teams have found good, old-fashioned letter writing to be the communication of choice in this area. They leave letters in previously agreed upon places – directions, observations, even orders."

Face and I exchanged glances. "Well, those must be handy." I couldn't help but smile. He returned it.

"Not terribly," the Agency man said. "At least, not in the way you're thinking. Mostly, they're kill orders. And too often, our assets are turning up on the list. We've been watching this for about a month now, trying to determine what to do about it. In the meantime, it's made for a few narrow escapes. Not to mention that every time we pull on of our assets out of harm's way, they want to know how we knew to get the hell out of dodge. Sooner or later, the gig will be up."

"So you want an IG insert," Hannibal summarized, "and you want us to replace their messages with something else? I still don't understand why we don't just blow the whole damn thing to holy hell."

He wasn't going to get a good answer to that and he knew it. It was the whole concept of IG inserts, and one that irritated him to no end. Sure, it was probably disheartening to the VC when their AK-47s blew up in their faces. But if the fifteen bullets before that one that was rigged killed fifteen American soldiers, what the hell difference did it make? Far easier and more effective to set a bomb under the whole damn thing and watch it go up in smoke.

"Mr. Davis here will be accompanying you out into the field to replace the messages as he sees fit."

"What!" Hannibal was bolt upright in a flash.

"You can't be serious!" Face's reaction was the same.

"I'm very serious, Lieutenant," Colonel Venier answered flatly.

Hannibal had to pick his jaw up off the floor. "You expect us to take a _civilian _out into the field, into an area probably swarming with enemy –"

"Because anywhere there's munitions, the NVA aren't far."

"- and leave letters for them?"

"While going from one site to the next? Because you said there were several dump sites."

"And a hundred yards through enemy territory is more than far enough to get yourself shot."

"Not to mention the fact that in order for this to work at all, they can't know we're in the area."

"And that an emergency extraction is going to take a while to _get_ there from the nearest FOB."

"And will have to maneuver through the enemy as much as we will."

"Are you two finished?" Colonel Venier did not sound amused.

"Not entirely," Hannibal answered coldly. "I can think of a few more reasons why this is a suicide mission."

"I thought you were used to suicide missions," Davis said with a patronizing tone that reeked of indignant aggression.

Hannibal looked straight at him. "It's not my suicide I'm worried about; it's yours."

"We're paid for suicide missions," Face added. "You're paid to sit at a desk."

"With all due respect," Colonel Venier interrupted, "Mr. Davis joined the Agency after an extended rotation in Vietnam as a force recon Marine. He's very familiar with your kind of work."

Hannibal laughed – brief, high, mocking laughter. Was he serious? "When was that?"

"June 68 to September 69," Davis answered confidently.

"And I don't suppose you've been in the field since then."

"No, this is the first instance that I've needed to."

Hannibal turned away from him. "Did you give the general a _full _briefing on what you're expecting us to do?" he demanded, staring straight at Colonel Venier.

"He's aware of the situation."

"That was a yes or no question," Hannibal clarified, his eyes narrowing into a glare.

"Frankly, Colonel," Davis stepped up, not giving Venier a chance to reply, "you're working for us on this one. Not the other way around."

"Well, if you want my happy cooperation, you'd damn well better get it cleared with my commanding officer. Because I will not be responsible for you out there."

"Well, to be perfectly honest, Colonel, I don't care if your cooperation is happy or not."

The tense but polite smile, the challenge in his eyes, the posture as he stood and waited for the comeback… Hannibal felt a feeling somewhere between anger and dread settling in the pit of his stomach. He and this boy were going to go around…

*X*X*X*

Hannibal was irritated as he gathered his gear and headed to the chopper, walking a little more quickly than necessary through the hot, humid, sticky air that pooled without a breeze between the buildings of MAC-SOG in Saigon. It was rancid. Rotting jungle and jet fuel exhaust, body odor and open sewage. Such was Vietnam. It added to his mood. He was not pleased that the Agency had gotten the last word on this assignment. In fact, Westman's response had been little more than a pat on the head and a warning to play nice.

It was times like this he really pissed Hannibal off.

Hannibal had run a fair number of Agency missions – with and without his team – and they were all fairly nonsensical. But this took the cake. It made an already ludicrous assignment into a dangerously stupid one.

But if Hannibal was pissed, Face was _livid_. He'd stopped talking somewhere along the way in that briefing, and hadn't said a word since beyond basic, one-word answers. He didn't want to talk. Hannibal wasn't about to make him.

The team briefing had been quick and unemotional. Part of that, Hannibal knew, was because the team was well aware that protests to the effect of "this is suicide! And stupid!" had already been made and rejected. Otherwise, they wouldn't be getting briefed in the first place. Davis' presence – he'd stood by with a stupid grin on his face – certainly added to their hesitation.

So began a week of training drills. Hannibal's confidence in Davis lessened with every lap. He wasn't out of shape, but he wasn't up to par with the rest of the team, by a long shot. Once again, and even in light of new reasons, Hannibal's protests were ignored.

He sighed as he threw his gear into the back of the chopper and climbed in. "All clear on the right, Captain."

"Clear on left," BA yelled, craning his neck to look out the other open side of the bird.

"10-4 guys," Murdock called back. "Next destination, FOB-1, RPG Alley, and finally, Hell."

Hannibal was glad to see somebody still had a sense of humor.

Personal convictions, preferences, and feelings on all and any subjects were put on hold as soon as their feet hit the ground. They were there to do a job, and to stay alive while doing it. And given the situation they had to work with, it was going to take all of their not-inconsiderable abilities to actually stay alive.

They hit what could've been real trouble within an hour – the very first dump site. They'd taken to the trees and to silence, and waited it out as the enemy came and went. Hannibal watched Davis closely. His finger was itching on that trigger, and the last fucking thing they needed was for him to start shooting and give away their (trapped) location.

Unable to speak for fear of being heard, Hannibal glared at him until he could feel the eyes on him. He turned, and with a look that very clearly stated, "If you pull that trigger, I will kill you myself," Hannibal waited for him to calm down. He did. The enemy passed. At long length, and with silent hand gestures, Hannibal took them all back to the ground. Onward to the next stop.

As sundown approached, they'd only been to three of seven marked sites. They had a choice. RON, call an extraction, or move through the dark. Pausing in the cover of some thick hanging vines, he exchanged glances with his team.

"What do you wanna do, Colonel?" Cruiser asked, eyes worried.

"We were supposed to report back tonight," Hannibal said quietly.

"But we ain't finished," BA replied.

"No, we're not." Hannibal glanced at each of them. "So do we RON without supplies – or Covey – or do we push though?"

"Or do we say fuck it and get the hell out of here," Face added.

"There is that." Hannibal shrugged.

"Well, I don't know about anyone else," Davis interjected, "but I see no reason to run away scared."

Somehow, he'd turned his opinion into a barb – not even a good one – aimed directly at Face. Hannibal caught it, and watched as Face bristled at the attack. "Fuck you!" he hissed.

"Not now." The warning was for both of them, and Hannibal looked to make sure they both heard it. Face looked away. Davis smiled. Hannibal sighed. "BA? Cruiser?"

"If we RON it basically means we skip another meal," Cruiser said. "I can live with that as long as we've got water."

"I don't wanna leave the job unfinished," BA said. "No matter what it is."

"Face?" Hannibal glanced at him. "RON 'til dawn?"

Face shrugged. "Whatever you wanna do, Colonel."

"Fine." Hannibal looked at BA, and the radio on his shoulder. "Call us in. Tell them we're staying out here tonight."


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Explosion. Hannibal was wide awake, clutching his rifle tightly. "Those our claymores?" Face hissed. He was awake and alert, too.

"Sounds like."

Yelling in Vietnamese. Close by. They were found.

"Everybody move!" Hannibal ordered. "Up! Go!"

Getting _out _of the thicket was the most difficult. It was hard to maneuver, and they were vulnerable as they tried to get to their feet. Once they were all upright, they were running. There was no looking back. Straight line, ducking low, they headed for the nearest clear area away from the converging NVA.

Gunshots. A quick command, and a run through an IA drill – turn, spray everything, run like hell. They slowed as they came to more difficult terrain – a steep slope with boulders protruding. It was a good place to dig in and call an extraction, as long as no one came up behind them. And as long as they could secure a pickup zone.

"BA, get on the radio and call Murdock! Face, Cruiser, secure the –" He cut off abruptly, looking around. "Where's Davis?"

Cruiser stared at him for a moment, then looked over his shoulder. Confusion was overcome by shock. "Jesus, he was right behind me!"

"Face! Stay with BA!"

"Murdock's comin'," BA yelled back, lowering the radio and raising his rifle again.

"Fine, then both of you come. We lost Davis!"

Soaked with adrenaline, they bolted back, exchanging fire only when they actually knew what they were shooting at. The whole area was crawling with NVA, and it was suicide to try and retrace their steps. None of them hesitated in the least. It wasn't terribly far back that they saw the small huddle of NVA, and heard a man's cries as they tried to pull him to his feet. He was injured. They didn't care.

Hannibal sent Face and Cruiser to either side, and kept BA at his side as he moved in slowly, crouched low, heading straight for them. Gunshot. AK followed by CAR-15 from Hannibal's right. Face. Chaos. With a gesture, Hannibal sent BA after Face, surprised when the NVA let Davis simply fall to the ground and left him there to go chasing after the firing rifles.

Cruiser reached him quickly, and waited for Hannibal's cover before crouching down beside him.

"They shot me!" Davis was gasping for breath. "They… they shot…!"

"Yes, they certainly did."

Hannibal knew from Cruiser's tone, low and dry and serious, that it wasn't a flesh wound. Tearing plastic. "Stay with me, man. Eyes open and on me."

"We gotta get him off this path, Cruiser…"

"I gotta plug the holes in his chest, Hannibal…" Cruiser mimicked his tone verbatim.

The enemy seemed to be materializing out of nowhere. Thirty seconds was about all they had a prayer of securing. "Stay with me. Keep…" Cruiser trailed off. Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal saw the tremors. He wasn't sure how Davis had been hit. But it was definitely enough to kill him. The shots came seconds later.

"Cruiser! Move!"

Cruiser's hands slipped on the blood as he pulled his rifle around and started firing before he'd even found his feet.

"Get up on the hill! We can hold it 'til Murdock gets here!"

*X*X*X*

Venier was quiet, jaw clenched, standing aside as an unfamiliar man from the Agency stared steadily at the two sweat-drenched soldiers who had just given an initial debriefing in Venier's office. "So basically what you're telling me," he said quietly, measured, "is that you didn't move quickly enough, didn't get to all of the sites, and when you decided to stay the night in what was apparently a compromising position, you were discovered by the enemy, shot at, and you not only allowed Davis to be killed, you failed to even return his body."

Hannibal could still feel the adrenaline running through him. He needed to pull it under control. That anxious kill instinct would work far more to his detriment than his benefit here. He had to find calm, and present it to those who were staring at him in disapproval, waiting for a defense. He had years of practice with this sort of thing. Years of taking what gave him the edge on the battlefield and twisting it, moving it away from life and death situations and into the most mundane or manipulative conversations. Storing up that adrenaline and saving it for times when he needed it, drawing now on that latent, cold determination that made him just as formidable an opponent in Class As as he was in full battle gear.

But even with all his practice and experience, he was fighting harder than normal to control his need to attack. And he knew if he was struggling, then Face would be right on the edge.

"Are you out your fucking mind?" Face cried, stupefied by the cliff-notes version of what had just happened out there. "Where do you get off pinning this on us?"

The man raised a brow at Face. "Is there something I'm missing in your report?"

Face took a slight step forward, and Hannibal watched him out of the corner of his eye. "We told you point blank it was a suicide mission, that he was going to die out there. You wouldn't listen. That's _your _fault, not ours."

"Stand down, Lieutenant," Hannibal said quietly.

With hate and fire in his eyes, Face took a slight step back.

"What we're saying," Hannibal continued, "is that as predicted, this mission didn't have a chance in hell of succeeding the way you wanted it to. The fact that any one of us is left to stand here talking to you is because of training and experience."

The man stared straight at Hannibal. "We went through all the trouble of securing your team _because_ it didn't have a chance in hell."

Hannibal smiled politely. "Which is all the more reason why you should've listened to us. Don't think for a moment that I don't know what my team is capable of. When I tell you it can't be done, it can't be done."

Venier had been quiet up to this point. But finally, he stepped forward. "You never should've stopped to let them attack you," he said firmly. "Your orders were to get in and get out."

"Our orders were to IG seven pre-marked ammo dumps. Asking now if you would've preferred us to extract with the job only half-done is a moot point."

"You never should've had to," Venier shot. "Why the helldid it take you fourteen hours to go less than two miles down a trail?"

"Actually, that's pretty damn good time in enemy territory," Face snapped. "If you got out from behind your desk once in a while, you'd know that."

Venier bristled. "Do you have a _problem_, Lieutenant?"

Hannibal could sense the aggression as Face took a slight step forward. "Nothing I can't take care of, Colonel," he spat Venier's rank with contempt.

Hannibal put out an arm to block his advancement, a silent warning and an anchor to the order to stand down. "Since we tried explaining the difficulty in traversing that length of trail before," Hannibal said calmly, "and you still seem to have some difficult envisioning it, maybe it actually would be more beneficial if we demonstrated it for you instead."

Venier glared daggers at him. "However dangerous you tried to make that assignment out to be, you said yourself that it was routine for teams out of CCN."

"We told you IG inserts were routine for CNN," Hannibal clarified with a smile. "And we told you that sending Davis in and doing propaganda letter swaps was suicide."

"You seem to find this amusing, Smith." Apparently, the smile was really grating on Venier. "A man is dead and we don't even have a body to send back to his wife!"

Face smacked Hannibal's restricting hand off of him, but he didn't move any closer to Venier. "I've known plenty of men far better than Davis who've laid down their lives," he growled. "And funny, somehow I don't think it would be such a big deal if any of us had been the one to take a bullet."

Venier leaned forward on the desk, eyes blazing. He seemed angrier than the guy from the Agency, and it wasn't even his man. This smelled like politics. What did Venier have on the line with this mission? Hannibal didn't even really want to know. He had a feeling it would only piss him off.

"Your orders were to switch out some bullets and secure that man's safety!" Venier yelled across the desk. "That was _all _you had to do! Those were your orders - what you're paid to do!"

Face took a step towards Veneir – into Hannibal as he inserted himself between the two of them. "I guess you signed that check a bit too soon then, huh?"

Venier glared at him. "I _didn't _sign your check. And I wouldn't if my life depended on it."

"Good thing your life doesn't depend on it."

"Unfortunately all that I can do is report your miserable failure to the general."

Face was on the edge. Hannibal took the tone in his voice very seriously. He was wound up tight and ready to explode. But he'd earned his say. Hannibal kept a sharp eye on him as he addressed the other colonel. "You do what you have to do, Venier. At this point, you've limited your options."

"Yeah," Face snarled, "and you should've thought about that before you sent your promotion-collateral out in the field to get slaughtered."

Venier's glare intensified. "You'd better watch your fucking mouth, boy, before I have you thrown in the stockade."

Face's eyes blazed. As he pushed past, Hannibal turned into him slightly, grabbed his arm, and held it tight to his body. The way they were standing made it covert, but the outcome was clear: he controlled the arm. "Stand down, Face," he said low. Although his voice was not even loud enough for Venier and the Agency man to hear, Hannibal put every ounce of his command into it.

Face pushed him away with the forearm that was already pressed against his chest and closed the gap between himself and Venier. He stopped just short of being nose to nose with the colonel - only because the desk was in the way. "Keep it up, I'll give you a reason that will actually stick."

This wasn't going well. And it would be far easier to explain why they walked out of a debriefing than why Face went off and rearranged a superior officer's nose. Moving fast, Hannibal took his arm and shifted his grip until Face was in a wrist lock, with the arm behind his back. There was no pain – yet - but resistance would guarantee it. With his other hand on Face's shoulder, he pulled him back towards the door. "It's been a pleasure, Venier, but I think it's time we get cleaned up. Let's go, Face."

"I will see you court marshaled for disorderly conduct, Lieutenant! And you can bet your ass it'll stick!"

Face struggled against Hannibal's hold as he was dragged from the office. "Disorderly conduct is going to be the least of your worries!"

Hannibal kept his hold on Face - shoving , marching and dragging him away from Venier, not stopping or slowing until he was outside. He could feel the tension and anger in the kid. Damned if he blamed him. Venier was a jackass. But he wasn't worth what decking him would cost.

Indignant and furious, Face struggled wildly as they stepped outside. "You'd better let me go right fucking now!"

Hannibal shoved him as he let go – not hard enough to make him fall but enough to put him out of striking distance. "That's enough, Lieutenant."

Face spun towards Hannibal as soon as he found his footing, and closed the gap between them instantly. "Where the hell do you get off?" he growled.

"I could ask you the same thing," Hannibal answered flatly. "That man was a colonel. What were you going to do, take a swing at him?"

Face's posture was aggressive, eyes flashing in anger, fists clenching. They were nose to nose and Face was not backing down.

"I don't need you fucking dress me down in front of some cock sucker who –"

"I didn't dress you down, Face. I told you to back off of a superior officer."

"You shouldn't have interfered!" Face was yelling now. Heads turned, but no one paused to investigate. "To hell with Venier and his threats! That's all they are! I know it, he knows it, you know it."

"Don't think that he can't write you up, Lieutenant," Hannibal warned, his voice a bit darker.

Face growled audibly. "The guy was just toting clout in a lame attempt to shift blame because he fucked up and got some paper-pusher killed."

Hannibal bore the weight of Face anger, but kept his own expression neutral. He was wired, ready for a fight, nerves and muscles waiting for a threat worth responding to. "He fucked up," Hannibal agreed, "but you and I both know how it's going to look on paper. And the last thing I need is you in there throwing your weight around like you've got something to prove."

Face grabbed the front of Hannibal's shirt in his fists and took a few hard steps forward until Hannibal's back hit the wall. "Something to prove?" he growled, through gritted teeth. "You arrogant son of a bitch."

Hannibal let him vent. For the moment, there was little harm in it although he would've certainly preferred a more private location. Even so, Hannibal could forgive that. It had been one hell of a mission, and Face yelling at him was a damn site better than throwing punches at Venier.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" Face's eyes were blazing in anger. "Exactly who _is _signing your paycheck? Or is that classified beyond my pay scale?"

Hannibal's eyes narrowed. "Just what are you getting at, Lieutenant?"

"Well it'd just be nice to have an answer to that question before I set foot in the field with you again," Face shot. "Just so I can know where your loyalties really lie."

The reaction was instant. No telegraphing, no widening of his eyes, not tell-tale tick, just sudden, pure, cold anger. Hannibal grabbed his wrist and pulled, pinning his arm to Hannibal's chest. The other hand shot in between the lieutenant's arms and grabbed him by the neck. It was all he had time for before a set of hands grabbed Face's shoulders and pulled him back, off balance. Cruiser. His grip broken by the unexpected intervention, Hannibal had only words.

"Watch your fucking mouth, Lieutenant!"

Cruiser turned Face, stepped into the spot where he'd just stood, and with one hand on Face's chest, put the other on Hannibal's. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you two?" he yelled angrily.

Hannibal ignored him, eyes locked on Face. "You can call me names, take a swing, question my sanity, but don't you _ever _question my loyalty to this team. We've been _down _that road before, boy!"

Face pressed in on Cruiser's hand, ready and willing to engage again. "Oh, I think I know exactly who your loyalty lies with _now_!"

Cruiser spun on Face. "Shut the _fuck _up, Lieutenant before you embarrass every single person on this team!"

His eyes were cold and hard, and bore into Face the way one glared at a disobedient dog. The camo paint on his face was smeared and streaked where dirty hands had wiped away the sweat, and the entire front of his fatigues and his hands were covered in old blood, just dry enough to crack. It was a confusing sight - a threat, a tragedy, and a man who'd just seen hell and lived to tell about it. He was covered in the blood of a man who'd just died in his arms. And the startling sight of him seemed to break through Face's anger.

Cruiser lowered his hands slowly as the tension died down and spent a moment looking back and forth between the two of them. He shook his head as he took a step back. "Man, you two are something else. Did you even _make _it to the debriefing?"

It was a rhetorical question. Or, at least, one that didn't really require an answer.

Hannibal took a deep, slow breath, fighting down the residual adrenaline, pulling himself under control. His tone was once again neutral when he spoke again. "I don't have to prove my loyalty to you by letting you get written up for insubordination," he said quietly, studying Face. "He's a jackass, who would like nothing then better than to have you to pin this cluster fuck on. And you were making it easy for him."

Face took his eyes off Cruiser and looked back at Hannibal. Their stares held for a long moment, then Face dropped his eyes submissively. Hannibal felt the rest of the tension in his shoulders slowly dissipate.

"What are you going to do with this, Colonel?" Face asked quietly. He glanced up again. "This is just as much on Westman as it is Venier. Venier sure didn't take it well and Westman actually has some pull in what happens to us."

Hannibal reached for a cigar. "I already told Westman this was a bad plan, and people would die." He bit off the end of the smoke and looked for a light. Cruiser had one extended before he found his. "He will be expecting Venier to be pissed, and he'll deal with him."

Face eyed Hannibal with doubt written all over him. There was politics involved in this, and politics carried a lot of weight even out here. Venier was obviously looking for a scapegoat. Face needed to know that Westman wouldn't be doing the same thing. Shit rolled downhill, after all.

"You're sure that's as far as this goes?" Face asked. Cruiser glanced at Hannibal, awaiting an answer to that question as well.

Hannibal lit his cigar and took a few small puffs. "That's as far as this goes," he assured them. Westman would get the report and see it for the bullshit it was. There was nothing more to be done here. He forced a smile and put a hand on each of their shoulders. "Let's go get cleaned up. We could all use some sleep."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

Face had already had a bit to drink before he even left the base to follow Cruiser and Murdock into Saigon. He needed to cool his head, and he knew it. It had taken very little prodding to get him to come along. Even Hannibal had been more than amenable to the excursion. He'd given them three days. It would be more than enough time.

He didn't know, nor did he care, which bar they would end up in tonight. It was enough for him that his mood had improved – drastically – since he'd started drinking. Part of that probably had to do with the fact that there were two happy people with him. Failed mission or not, they had three days of freedom.

They headed for the French district. Face kept his attention on his feet, one in front of the other, careful not to let anyone _know _he was drunk. He smiled at the sheer amount of effort it took. This was going to be one hell of a night, and it had barely even started.

"Any ideas, guys?" Cruiser asked, clapping them both on the back.

Face glanced up, carefully, so as not to lose his balance. He was pleased to find that it wasn't excruciatingly difficult. "We can go find Pam and Kim," he suggested. "I'm sure they've got a friend or two who can keep us all very busy."

Cruiser leered openly at that idea. "Fuck that."

Murdock grinned. "Those aren't the same two girls who almost got you arrested last time, are they?"

Face chuckled, but it was Cruiser who answered. "You're gonna have to be more specific, Murdock."

Murdock's eyes widened. "Exactly how many times…"

He trailed off, shaking his head, and Cruiser let out a wicked laugh. "That would be telling."

"Never mind. I don't think I really want to know."

"We should go to Bangkok." Face wasn't aware that he was speaking until the words were out. He reflected on them with amusement. "I haven't been there in forever." Actually, it had only been a few months. But a few months was an eternity out here.

"Let's do it," Cruiser agreed. No hesitation there.

"Got a chopper up yer sleeve, Face?" Murdock asked with a grin. "Or a plane?"

What had been a thoughtless musing turned more interesting as Face considered that question.

"He's talented, but…" Cruiser was watching him with a challenging glint in his eye. "That might be pushing it."

"I could get a chopper," Face said confidently. He raised a brow at Murdock. "You sober enough to fly? I do _not _need to be explaining to Hannibal how we crashed on the way to Bangkok when our passes were for Saigon."

"Sober enough to fly and just buzzed enough to do it."

Cruiser laughed gleefully. "Perfect!" He threw back the bottle, then held it out for Face and Murdock if either of them wanted it.

Face ignored it, but Murdock eyed it warily. "I'd better wait until I see what Face can get," he said. "Gotta be a little more sober with a chopper. All that extra coordination."

Cruiser smirked. "_If _Face can get anything."

The gears were already turning in Face's mind. He smiled wickedly. "Give me," he considered the magnitude of the challenge, "fifteen minutes in the GHQ building."

*X*X*X*

It took Face a little longer than fifteen minutes. It was closer to thirty when he re-emerged with orders for a transport to Bangkok and handed them to Murdock. "Here ya go."

Cruiser raised the bottle to Face. "Never had a doubt, Lieutenant."

"Gentlemen," Murdock announced, "your ride to Bangkok awaits."

Face smirked. He was thoroughly pleased with himself. "The tricky part is getting them to not call to _verify _the orders."

Cruiser laughed. "You offer to take her out for a night on the town?"

Face only smiled and shrugged. Then he grabbed the bottle from Cruiser and took a drink - a little longer than he probably should've. He almost choked.

"What'd she look like?" Murdock joined in.

"Brunette, about 5'6, D cup. Not bad on the eyes, by any stretch of the imagination."

Cruiser laughed. "I think he should get points deducted if he gets a date out of the deal."

"Yeah, for technical merit." Murdock smiled as he located the chopper listed on the orders. "But you have to give him extra for style."

"So call this an even seven on the ten scale?" Cruiser suggested.

"Hey, I got us a ride, didn't I?" Face was still grinning. "And a clean trail behind us too. As long as we don't get arrested, Hannibal never even has to know."

Cruiser snickered. "Always a catch."

"Hey, I'm a con artist, not a magician. You get arrested, you get to work your own damn way out of the handcuffs."

"Yeah, 'cause I'll be the only one with that problem," Cruiser retorted, dripping sarcasm.

"Out of curiosity," Murdock paused to verify the numbers on the chopper, then began his external pre-flight, "how often do you guys manage to go out and _not_ get arrested?"

Cruiser and Face exchanged glances, and simply laughed.

*X*X*X*

It wasn't a particularly long ride from Saigon to Bangkok, and made much more enjoyable by the liquor that was flowing. Another twenty minutes of post-flight check and figuring out where to find the guys who were waiting for whatever the hell it was in the back of that chopper, and the three runaways slipped off the base as quickly and quietly as possible so as not to attract any unnecessary attention to themselves.

"Ah, Bangkok..." Face breathed deep and smiled. "This place just _smells_ like sex. And various other... forms of fun and amusement."

"I'm real tired of being sober," Murdock announced. "Anything left in that bottle?"

Cruiser handed the bottle over to Murdock in a very uncoordinated fashion. It was probably better that he give it a rest for a bit. "Ah, the possibilities."

Face was grinning from ear to ear as he looked around the street with a contented sigh. "I forgot how much I love this place."

"Best place on earth," Cruiser said. "If you ever don't know where to find me, look for me right here."

Face grinned. "I'll keep it in mind."

Past the women who congregated outside the doors of the buildings with different colored shades - each color specifically hung to designate what _kind_ of sex could be bought in each building. It wasn't a question that sex could be bought in any one of the buildings. Just a matter of with whom.

"Greatest shopping mall in the world," Cruiser mused.

"Hey, Cruiser, where's that bar with the balcony, overhanging second story thing?" The description was suffering from the effects of the alcohol about as much as his articulation. "That's around here, ain't it?"

Cruiser thought for a moment, tried to orient himself. He knew exactly which bar Face was talking about. It was his favorite. He and a number of other rowdy green berets had turned it into more or less a tourist trap with their antics, years before. As soldiers came and left, they still joined in – to this day.

"It's three or four blocks that-a-way," Cruiser gestured.

"Perfect."

Cruiser lit a cigarette as the three of them headed in a "that-a-way" direction, down the street and past a few GIs and at least another two dozen whores until they reached the doorway of the bar. He could feel the smile on his face as he stepped in through the door. The place was packed. American soldiers on R&R, working girls, most all of them drunk. There was music - loud music. There was sex in the booths. There was dim lighting and a dance floor crammed full of drunks. Damn, it was good to be back.

Cruiser pushed his way past a bunch of people, his balance and coordination not helping. At the bar, he flagged down the tender and requested a bottle of tequila and three glasses. Tequila shots sounded like a hell of a way to start off this night.

Murdock paid for the bottle when it arrived. Cruiser grabbed it and shoved the glasses in the direction and Face and Murdock. Then he opened the bottle up and poured them all shots, taking an extra swig off the bottle for good measure before setting it down on the table.

Face smiled as he took the glass and raised it. "To escape. Even if it's only for a night."

"To escape."

"Escape."

All three of them threw back, and Murdock made a face that only cheap tequila could produce. With a hacking cough, he sputtered, "Good stuff."

Cruiser laughed. "I think that means you need more."

Murdock paused briefly, eyeing the bottle. "When we're done, we can use what's left as paint remover."

Cruiser shook his head at that. "There won't be any left."

"Oh, it's gonna be one of _those _nights." Murdock laughed. "Better pour me another, then."

Cruiser grabbed the bottle again, refilling the glasses. He spilled more onto the table than into the shots. He shook his head at the mess, and glanced up at Face. The lieutenant was scanning for exits. Had they been on the other side of the border, Cruiser would've been doing the same thing. But there weren't too many people around here who wanted to blow up American establishments. The soldiers had brought business to this place. The community _wanted _them here.

Cruiser smacked his hand against Face's shoulder, bringing his focus back to the alcohol. "Ease up, man."

Face drank, and shoved the glass back towards Cruiser with a smile. "I'm eased."

Cruiser laughed. He left the bottle on the table, sure that either of the other two could make a more successful effort at pouring, and looked around the room, eyeing the working girls who were making their rounds. It didn't take them long to descend on the three soldiers sitting around the table. Potential clients were simply not ignored.

"Aww… you GI? You look lonely."

Cruiser spotted a petite girl dressed in a short skirt and a low cut top, walking towards him. He put a hand out, catching the upper part of her inner thigh, and turned in his chair. As she stopped, he looked up, trying to focus his eyes a bit more. It wasn't working so well. "Hey, honey."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Murdock stand with the girl who was hanging on his neck and lead her to the dance floor. Cruiser lost track of him immediately. Right now, he couldn't care less what Murdock found to keep himself busy. He had other things on his mind.

He pulled the girl so hard she almost stumbled, guiding her to stand between his knees. His fingers slid up the inside of her thigh until he touched fine hairs. No panties. He smirked. Nice. "You're too cute to let walk by, sweetie."

Face cleared his throat noticeably, and Cruiser threw a glance at him. It took him a moment to figure out what Face was indicating with his nod – a gorilla of a man who did not look happy with him, and had only another two or three steps to go before he reached him. Cruiser licked his lips, subconsciously. Oh good. He needed to blow off a little steam.

The man - who had a good fifty pounds and two inches on Cruiser - stopped just a few feet away and grabbed the girl's arm, pulling her out of Cruiser's reach. "Hey man, back off."

It wasn't friendly, but it wasn't much of a threat, either. He was testing the waters to see if Cruiser would step up. Cruiser smiled inwardly, immediately rising to his feet. Hell yes, he would step up. He leered at the man, and held up the fingers that had just been inside the girl. "You should thank me, bro. I just cleared her."

The man shoved the girl behind him, closing the gap between the two of them. "I wasn't looking for help, you fucking pogue."

Cruisers grin turned wicked as the man intruded on his space, and he wiped his fingers over the man's shirt. "You can have her back."

The instant he made contact, he was stumbling back, shoved by two hands on his shoulders. He made it a few steps, then crashed through the table that Face was still sitting at. The lieutenant didn't even look up from where he was kissing his girl's neck. "Lemme know if you need a hand, Cruiser…"

Cruiser shook his head at the change in altitude and fumbled his way back up to his feet. "Don't worry your pretty little head, LT."

"Mmm hmm…"

The man was standing still, watching to see if the challenge would be answered. Cruiser found his balance and ran at him, his shoulder catching the guy in the gut. He pushed him back, his hands finding the guys knees, and he lifted up. It took way more effort than it should have any other time. But he was drunk. Dizzy. Disoriented.

The adrenaline helped to alleviate some of that as they landed hard on the floor. Cruiser tried to base out, give himself a moment to get his bearings again. Perhaps tequila shots weren't such a good idea. At least not so many of them.

Fuck. He lost his position and suddenly he was on his back with the larger man pinning him down. "I'm gonna kick your sorry, worthless, no good –"

Cruiser growled, reaching up to grab the man's neck. "Shut up and fight, you fucking pussy!"

The man needed no further encouragement. As he brought his fist down onto Cruiser's face, the brief thought crossed his mind – that antagonizing him might not have been the smartest thing he could've done under the circumstances. A low expletive, and Cruiser wrapped his arms around the gorilla's biceps. He pulled himself up – hard – head-butting the guy square in the nose. In the moment of surprise, Cruiser swept the guys leg and put all of his weight into shoving the guy onto his back again. This time, he straddled him, high on the guy's chest so he couldn't buck him off.

Fist tightly clenched, he returned the punch to the face. "That'll be a twenty dollar service fee, you fucking jar head."

Cruiser blocked a returning blow aimed at his head, only to take a sharp hook to the ribs. He rolled off of the guy back – towards Face, just in case he needed the help. The alcohol was in full effect, and he wasn't doing too great here. He braced his ribs with his elbows for a moment and got up just in time to have the larger man grab the front of his shirt.

"Hey, uh, Cruiser?"

Face's voice – casual and disinterested in the fight that was going on right beside him – was lost in the angry growl from the man who suddenly had Cruiser pinned to the wall. "You got a mouth that needs shutting, boy!"

"Are you going to be much longer?" Face asked calmly. Out of the corner of his eye, Cruiser saw him stroke the side of the girl's face. "I think I'm about ready to get out of here."

Cruiser grabbed the guy's shirt, more for balance than anything. He grinned at Face's question, never taking his eyes off of the threat directly in front of him. "You wanna try reasoning with this meathead?"

Cruiser saw Face smile at the woman on his lap, leaning in to kiss just below her ear. "'Scuse me for a minute. I have to go 'reason'."

The gorilla strong-armed Cruiser, and pulled his other fist back. Cruiser gave one last vain attempt to jab at his ribs, then grabbed the hand that was buried in his shirt with both of his. As Face calmly set the girl aside, stood to his feet, and reached under his shirt, Cruiser braced his back against the wall, picked up his foot and planted it in the guy's knee. That man didn't even stumble.

When Face withdrew his hand again, he was wearing brass knuckles. He tapped the man's shoulder, and raised his other fist, making sure the guy saw very clearly that it was not a bare fist. He didn't strike, just took a step back and hung there for a moment, just out of range.

"Look," Face said, exceedingly calm, patronizing, and patient. "We can keep going with this. But frankly, I've got other things on my mind at the moment and I really don't want to get blood all over my clothes. So why don't you just grab your girlfriend," Face gestured to the girl they were fighting over in the first place, "and take her somewhere nice." His other hand went to his pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill - American money. "There's a room right across the street. It's on me, man."

Cruiser waited. The man seemed to debate a minute before letting Cruiser go with a hard shove and grabbing the cash from Face. He turned back to glare at Cruiser, and Cruiser returned a smile. "Next time, your friend here isn't going to be so convincing."

Without another word, he was gone. Cruiser relaxed against the wall, and smiled at Face. "I think I could have handled that on my own, if you hadn't been so impatient."

Face chuckled. "Of course you could've."

It wasn't clear if that was sarcasm or not. Butone way or another, it was patronizing. Cruiser chuckled, and bent down to sift through the rubble that was once a table. He came back up smiling, with the tequila bottle in hand. He took the top off again and took another swig off of the bottle.

Face had returned to his girl. "You strong GI. Good fighter. I love you too much."

Face chuckled. "Uh huh."

Without another word, Cruiser grabbed the arm of the nearest girl and pulled her in. "You available?"

She looked back at him and smiled.

A/N: The next chapter is an INSERT. If you would prefer not to read graphic sex, do not read it. It is included for the sake of character development, but is not essential to the plot.


	18. Insert

**INSERT**

**A/N: This chapter is an INSERT. If you would prefer not to read graphic sex, do not read it. It is included for the sake of character development, but is not essential to the plot.**

Cruiser took a good look around the room as he stepped inside. Of the two lamps, one was burned out. The roaches scattered as the other lit up, but there was nothing larger that ran away. It had one up on some of the rooms he'd stayed in.

There was a woman on either side of him – Linda and Mary, if he remembered correctly. Funny how all these gook whores had easy-to-pronounce American names. Linda – or Mary? - leaned in to kiss Cruiser's neck before she walked to the air conditioning unit and turned it on. It rattled loudly as it came to life, and blew hot air for a few seconds before cooling. He could feel it from where he stood.

She smiled as she turned and locked eyes with him, but didn't move away from the window unit. He couldn't remember which one she was, but decided that from that point on, she was going to be "Linda." That made the girl still standing next to him "Mary."

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Face shut the door behind him and locked it. Even drunk, he realized something was missing, and he looked around. "Where's Murdock?"

Face had to unlock his mouth from his girl's in order to answer. "He stayed in the bar." Face gave him a funny look. "You _just _realized that?"

Fuck, Cruiser wasn't babysitting Murdock. Hell if he knew when he'd decided to fall behind, or why. Hell if he cared, as long as he wasn't going to get himself killed. Cruiser didn't want to have to explain that shit to Hannibal. Luckily, a bar in Bangkok was probably one of the safest places the pilot had been since the States.

Mary's hands on his chest, through his fatigues, brought his mind back to more important things. He pulled her in and stepped forward, forcing her backwards towards Linda – and towards the dresser. His lips closed over hers, his tongue penetrating deep into her mouth as his hands slid up under her flimsy shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Linda strip her shirt in one fluid motion. Nothing under it. Good. Less shit to get in his way.

Linda moved behind him and leaned in to kiss the back of his neck. As her hands slid around his hips to press against the front of his pants, they came into contact with Mary's. He leaned his head back with a throaty groan as both girls groped him through the jeans.

"You like? Tough guy?"

He wasn't sure which of them had said that, and he didn't care. "Fuck yeah, I like." He could feel himself hardening, pressing up and tenting his pants.

He stepped out from between them – it took a hell of a lot of self-control – and smiled wolfishly as he turned to face them. He reached up with both hands and pushed their heads together. "Play with each other."

A moment of hesitation, then Linda smiled shyly as she stepped forward and brushed a light kiss with the other girl. Cruiser smiled, and licked his lips as they made full contact, hands roaming. His eyes never left them, drinking in the sight of their slow exploration. As they stripped each other, one article of clothing at a time, he was shedding the weapons that were stashed beneath his clothes. Placing the arsenal on the dresser, piece by piece, his eyes scanned up and down their naked bodies as they pinched and pulled and teased and touched. He ran his tongue over his teeth and reached for the bottle of tequila, taking a long drink.

"You only watch, tough guy?" Mary taunted, a hint of challenge in her tone. "No fucky fucky?"

He snorted with laughter as they both smiled, turning toward him and striking an enticing pose. "Oh, don't worry." He came in close, and each hand found a breast on either girl. His rough, demanding kiss was to Mary first, then Linda. "We're gonna fucky fucky all night long if I got anything to say about it. And since I'm the one footing the bill," he smiled wickedly, "I guess that means I got _everything_ to say about it."

Both of them grinned as they pressed into him on either side, grinding their hips on his. As he slid his hands around their waists, he leaned in to kiss Linda's neck, equal amounts of teeth and tongue. There were hands on his T-shirt, pulling it up, and hands pulling at his belt. He turned to kiss Mary as her warm, delicate fingers slipped inside of his pants, beneath his boxers, and slowly stroked his cock. He could feel himself swell in her hand, and he groaned loudly. That felt so fucking good…

He raised his arms, letting them pull the shirt up over his head. As he lowered his hands again, one moved to grope Linda's ass. The other found its way down to Mary's crotch, and he traced his fingers through her fine pubic hair as he kissed her, continuing down until he found her wet folds. He didn't hesitate, shoving his fingers deep inside her and smiling in satisfaction as she grunted at the rough, demanding intrusion. But she didn't try to pull away. She leaned forward, against his chest, and ran her tongue in circles over his exposed nipple.

He was hard, already feeling the urge to thrust against the expert hand that was manipulating him inside of the pants. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers from the wet heat and turned, smiling, as he raised them to the other girl's lips. His heart missed a beat as she tipped her head forward to lick and suck the quickly-cooling juices off of his hand.

"You want sucky?"

Cruiser pulled his hand from Linda's lips and tangled his fingers in Mary's hair, his hand coming to a rest at the base of her neck. He didn't look at her as he pushed her firmly down to her knees. "Fucking hell yes."

The warmth and wetness of the young girl's mouth made his eyes slide closed involuntarily, and he took in a deep breath before he looked down at her, on her knees with his cock deep in her throat. God damn, she was good at that. Hardly even a flinch, no preparation whatsoever, and he was buried to the hilt with her tongue massaging him, lips pulling on him.

Kisses on his neck. He moved his legs ever so slightly so that the pants that were caught at mid-thigh would fall to his ankles. Delicate fingers traced tiny circles around his nipples, and the girl standing beside him smiled as she ran her tongue along his collarbone. "You _very_ nice..."

He laughed at the admiration, the way her eyes ran over him appreciatively. A wicked smile crossed his face as he reached up and grabbed her chin. "No," he corrected, his voice hoarse with desire. "I'm _very _bad."

She groaned as he plunged two fingers deep inside of her, exploring as far as he could. Holding him for balance, she raised her leg and rested it on Mary's shoulder, giving him open access. He smiled.

The smile faded as his eyes slid closed involuntarily. The warm, wet, tight sucking on his cock was accompanied by a warm hand, gently fondling his balls. He shut his eyes hard as he resisted the urge to thrust. Too soon. He didn't want to come yet. He put a hand in her hair and pulled her back.

"That's enough," he growled, deep in his throat. But he kept her down, on her knees. He liked her there. After a moment of hesitation, she leaned in to kiss the crease of his thigh, warm kisses exploring upward towards his abs. He let her go, let her continue. With one hand now free, he reached for the bottle again and he took another long drink of the tequila.

Nails were raking lightly down his back, along his spine. Linda's warm mouth was moving over his shoulder, moist breath all the way down his biceps. He clenched his fist, hardening the muscles in his arm, and the girl cooed softly as she planted light kisses against his skin. "You strong."

"You like that?" He smiled wolfishly at her, setting the bottle aside again. His hand went straight to her crotch, his thumb pressing her clit as his fingers found her pussy again.

She moaned, pressing down on his rough hand, urging him to continue. "Me like."

He shoved his finger deep into her, sliding in and out of her. As she dug her nails into his back, he inserted another finger, forcefully. He could feel the lust burning in his veins, adrenaline flowing. An animalistic and primal desire, a need to conquer and to dominate… He licked his lips as he handled her roughly, more than pleased when she winced at the pain.

"You like?" she asked. There was hopeful pleading in her voice. Just a hint of fear. His heart beat faster.

"I definitely like."

She turned to cast a glance over her shoulder at the bed, a blatant suggestion although she didn't speak. He smirked slightly, and nodded his approval. Immediately, she lowered her foot from Mary's shoulder and ran her nails all the way down his back - from his neck all the way to his ass - before she pulled out of reach. Eyes locked firmly on his, she stepped back slowly until the back of her legs hit the foot of the bed. She didn't wait for an order before she climbed up onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and parted her legs wide, hands on her knees. His eyes never left her, and he felt his cock twitch as he stared at her, open and waiting for him.

His hand tangled into Mary's hair again, and he pulled her up without looking at her. He turned towards the bed as he pushed her forward. "Continue," he ordered. Whether they understood the word or not, he was pretty sure he'd made himself pretty clear. Mary looked up at him, and with a slow smile she turned crawled between the other girl's open and inviting legs.

He leered at their activities as he slowly bent down and undid his boots. He managed to pull them off and strip his pants and boxers off completely without taking his eyes off of the two girls who were so busy pleasuring each other, they didn't even seem to notice him. An exaggerated moan, clearly fake, made him smile. Without thought, his hand drifted to his cock, stroking himself slowly and evenly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Face was pushing himself up off of the other bed. He couldn't have cared less what Face was doing or why, until he realized with some amusement that the two girls on the bed had attracted his attention as well. He sat up, leaned over to whisper something to the girl on the bed with him, then stood and took two steps to the bed where Linda and Mary were engaged. Startled by the intrusion, Linda barely had a chance to take a breath before Face took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and held her still as he kissed her deeply.

Cruiser's smile grew as he watched Face, kissing and fondling the two whores. Damn if it wasn't hot. They would submit to anything, do anything, let anything be done to them. His own private porn show. He had to slow his stroking to maintain his control as Face slid a hand behind the girl's neck, holding her still as he possessed her. Fucking beautiful. As Linda's hands cupped around Face's shaft, pulling and stroking him firmly, Cruiser's tongue ran over his lips subconsciously.

Tiny, slender fingers came to rest on his shoulders, and the heat of a woman's breasts pressed against his back as Face's girl massaged his shoulders firmly. Cruiser's eyes slid closed almost involuntarily as he felt the tension ease away, his hand still moving slowly up and down.

His breathing deepened as he watched the show the three of them put on just for him, kissing and touching and stroking their hands over each others' bodies. It didn't matter to him that the sounds both women made were loud and exaggerated, clearly forced. The sight and sound and smell and taste in the air all screamed sex, and he could feel his blood racing at the mere thought of what it would feel like buried inside of the wet opening that was enticing him as Mary bent over to kiss the inside of the other woman's thigh, positioning herself just perfectly.

"You hot," the woman behind him whispered into his ear, right before she blew a stream of cool air across his shoulders. She leaned in and kissed the back of his neck. "You so horny. Yes?"

He smiled, but didn't answer, letting his hand stroke slowly as he watched Face pull Mary up and into a slow, deep kiss, thrusting against Linda's hands as she milked him slowly, expertly.

"You want fuck her," the girl whispered. "You do. You like."

He chuckled quietly, and glanced over his shoulder at her. She smiled as their eyes met, and he gestured to the dresser. "Bring me that bottle, will you?"

As she stepped away, Cruiser rested his knee on the bed and came in behind Mary, leaning forward until he rested his chest on her back. His engorged cock found her opening easily, and he plunged into her in one hard, fast motion. She squealed, shocked by the sudden intrusion, and Face put a hand on her shoulder to keep her steady as the force of Cruiser's thrust pushed her into Linda.

"Don't move." Face's voice, a firm order, sounded a million miles away.

"Oh, fuck yeah." So hot… So fucking hot and wet…

Using one arm for support, the other groped a breast. Face had a hand in Mary's hair, pulling her head back until their eyes met. Cruiser watched them out of the corner of his eye as he lost himself in the warmth of sensation.

"Go down on her," Face ordered her.

The words brought back the mental picture, and Cruiser's breath caught as he almost lost it right then and there. He pulled back, away from the heat, and took a few deep breaths to regain his composure, holding the tip of his penis just outside of her. The third girl was standing beside the bed with the bottle of tequila. He smiled as he sat up, reaching out a hand to take it from her.

Face used the hand in Mary's hair to push her head down until she made contact with Linda's exposed pussy. With his finger over the bottle opening, Cruiser let a tiny trickle of liquor fall over Mary's back, and bent down to catch it with his tongue before it ran down past her shoulders. Bent over her again, he slid back into her tight, hot sheath. Her gasp was as genuine as it was satisfying. He trickled the tequila over her shoulders again, leaning down to lick it from her salty skin as he buried himself to the hilt, rocking his hips back and forth, groaning with pleasure.

Passing the bottle to Face, Cruiser watched with interest as Mary turned her head to kiss and lick the inner folds. Watching her was erotic in and of itself. Realizing that he was setting the rhythm of her tongue's stroking by the force and time of his thrusts was even better. More tequila poured onto Mary's shoulders - this time by Face - and Cruiser didn't hesitate to lick it up.

Drunk and dizzy, he faded in and out of focus. Inside of one, kissing the other, more liquor, sucking, kissing, thrusting. Linda's mouth on his neck, rocking as Face thrust into her from behind… Mary's mouth around his cock as she took all of him in and down her throat… He groaned. He was in heaven. The warm, pleasurable sensations coursing through his body were quickly getting the best of his control.

He found Linda's pace – the one that Face was setting – and moved his hips in time. As he tipped his head, he caught her mouth. Bodies, mouths, arms all joined, they moved as one. The sensations in his groin were becoming more and more uncontrollable as he thrust his tongue deeply into Linda's mouth.

There was a hand on the inside of his thigh and he groaned as it moved up slowly, caressing along the crease of his thigh, then moving down to cup him. She squeezed gently, and he felt a stab of pleasure. "Oh, fuck yeah…"

His breathing was starting to catch as the sweet massage around his swollen cock intensified. He dropped his hands to the bed, grabbing the blanket in his fists as he let the girls take over. It was a strange sort of submission to the roaming hands, the warmth and wetness, the rhythm of the deep, powerful thrusts. He was drunk. He couldn't even keep track of who was where anymore. And he didn't care.

A woman over him raked her nails across his chest. One beside him held his shoulder for support. Another had a hand between his legs in a rhythmic squeeze, release, roll pattern on his balls. They tightened as he felt his control slipping through his fingers. Warmth and wetness and beautiful tightness. Nails in his chest, tequila still on his tongue, gentle, slender fingers manipulating him expertly.

At the flash of pain under the fingernails in his chest, he felt his muscles tighten. His fists choked the covers, knuckles white, breathing all broken groans of pleasure as he felt himself go over the top. No longer in control of his body, he laid there with muscles twitching as he came… and let the hell of the world around him fade to nothingness.


	19. Chapter Seventeen

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

General Westman had alerted Hannibal ahead of time that he was coming. But he hadn't given so much notice as to make it seem like a formal meeting. For a formal meeting, Hannibal probably would've gone to him, anyways. Not the other way around.

Really, it was better if Westman did _not _come into the combat zone. For that very reason, there was an entourage with him - MPs and security forces - as he stepped off the plane at Qui Nhon. Nobody wanted to take a risk of him getting shot.

The men who were gathered all around Hannibal all stood at full attention, a formal salute even though it was hardly necessary out here. The respect was clear, and deserved, and Hannibal mimicked it. Spine straight, shoulders square, his salute was textbook. The handshake and grin that followed the salute were not. He could feel the corner of his mouth pull up in a half grin as he greeted the older man.

"Good to see you, General."

Westman returned the smile, and the handshake. "And you."

He passed Hannibal to shake hands with several of the younger soldiers. Laughter and smiles followed wherever he went. He was known everywhere by reputation, but few of these men had ever had the pleasure of meeting him.

After a good twenty minutes of greetings and morale boosting, he turned to Hannibal, still smiling. "Someplace we can talk, Colonel?"

The TOC was the best – the safest – place to talk. And probably the one place where they could be alone. The guards stayed outside as they entered, and Hannibal lit his cigar as he leaned his hip against the table in the center of the room. "So Ross, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Westman eyed him carefully, almost warily. That wasn't a good sign. "What's going on with your boys, John?" he asked. "You seem to be having some problems lately."

Definitely not a good sign. Reaching up, Hannibal took the cigar from his mouth. Ross and he went back a long ways, but he had been in the Army long enough to know not to volunteer information to a superior. Friends or not, Hannibal was still dealing with a four star general. He was walking the line between soldier and friend.

The team had had two recent unsuccessful missions, and failure was a feeling they were not well accustomed to. Hannibal's eyes were serious as he studied Westman, analyzing carefully. "We had some unforeseen trouble at Lang Vei," he conceded in a neutral voice, watching for the reaction.

"Lang Vei?" Westman chuckled. "I heard about Lang Vei, but that wasn't exactly what I was talking about."

Hannibal nodded slowly. "Saigon, then? Because I told you how that was going to end."

Westman raised a brow, eyeing the colonel carefully. "Not particularly. Though that's part of it."

"Care to elaborate?" Hannibal wasn't going to play guessing games.

"I've had two separate incidents across my desk in the past week about your Lieutenant."

He let the statement hang, and Hannibal eyed the cigar in his hand. Westman was feeling him out, too. They both had been doing this so long it was second nature. The wheels turned slowly in Hannibal's mind. The outburst at Saigon was the first. He couldn't even guess where the second complaint had come from.

Putting the cigar back in his mouth, he fooled his arms across his chest. "That kid has a gift for rubbing people the wrong way."

Westman laughed loudly. "That's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?"

He eyed Hannibal warily. Eventually they would get into the specifics, but first they had to do the Army two step.

"Two separate incident reports, John. In a week. And two pretty substantial failures. What the hell is going on?"

Hannibal's gaze remained steady, but inwardly, he sighed. He had already been asking himself that same question. It wasn't so much the complaints, it was the failures. They were the best unit he had ever served with, each one of them the best at what they did, but all lacking in social graces. Hell, that was too nice. They could all be giant pains in the ass. They ruffled more feathers then a fox in the hen house. But they were unstoppable as a team. At least, until recently. Two failed missions didn't seem like a lot. But theirs was a unique team, with unique demands.

"You know, Ross, my boys have been at a dead run for months now. I know that was part of the deal, but you need to realize, that's a lot of pressure and stress." He paused briefly. "If you want to know what I think, they need a week or two of R&R."

Westman's gaze remained steady. Silent. Finally, he reached into his pocket for a cigarette, lit it, and sat down in one of the chairs against the wall. "I got no problem with you taking R&R, John. For Christ's sake, you ain't done it in four years. Except when you needed an excuse to go looking for your pilot."

Hannibal didn't answer. No reason to confirm or deny that.

Westman eyed him warily as he dragged on his cigarette. "But I'm not sure that's really what's needed here. You _do_ know that half your team just spent a few hard-earned days off on Bangkok, after requisitioning a helicopter in Saigon under forged orders, right?"

Hannibal never saw it coming. There was no hiding the shock in his eyes. His expression turned dead serious as he stood up straight, arms dropping to his sides. The shock of them doing something as stupid as going AWOL and leaving the country in a misappropriated chopper was compounded by the fact Hannibal had no clue it had happened. It was one of the rare times he was out of the loop on something that was happing with his men. Someone else was having to tell him what was going on with his own team. There was no smile as he asked in a quiet, shocked tone (that he hated), "What?"

Westman raised a brow. "Ah, you don't know about that. I thought perhaps not." He sat forward. "Seems your lieutenant showed up in the GHQ in Saigon with orders to take a transport of supplies down to Bangkok. Except that the orders were signed by a Colonel Mark Usten. Who does not, to the best of my knowledge, exist."

Jesus Christ, a fictional colonel to sign false orders! He'd used a made up Colonel to make a paper trail that prove they went AWOL and left the fucking country. Bangkok. What the hell was he thinking? Famous for sex, but they could've gotten that just as easy in Saigon, and without putting their names on something that could get them court marshaled. It was stupid and reckless in so many ways it was terrifying.

"Now, why no one verified these orders, I don't know," Westman continued. "Probably didn't feel it necessary. After all, there's not a lot of people with the gall to pull a stunt like that. That boy of yours is one of a kind."

If it was Face, then it had to be Cruiser with him. Cruiser was a good soldier, but he never thought past the moment he was in. Long term planning was a foreign concept to him. Since it was a chopper then it had to be Murdock who flew them. That kid needed to be part of the team, needed it to have any type of hope or focus. They were his only place to be. He would do damn near anything to be part of the team and bond with Face and Cruiser. They knew it and they'd used him.

He processed the thoughts slowly, organizing the facts and focusing on overcoming the shock and – increasingly – the anger. After a few moments and several rounds of deep breathing, he could feel his emotions coming back under control.

"Now." Westman paused and took a deep drag off of his cigarette. "I can court martial him. Get him off your hands. Not a chance in _hell_ he'd con his way out of this one." The feigned amusement dropped very suddenly, and Westman's tone and eyes both turned deadly serious. "Or you can get him the hell under control, Colonel. Because I will not ignore not _one _more report that comes across my desk with his name on it. Or _any _of you. Either get it together or tell me right now that you can't do it. There is no third option."

Hannibal's jaw clenched. He hated the words, but he couldn't disagree with them. If it was his command he would be saying the exact damn thing. The sudden sensation of heat at his fingers reminded him of his forgotten cigar. He tapped off a large line of ash before he put it back to his mouth.

There was no choice, really. He and the team needed Face, and to keep him, it was going to require his personal word. It wasn't a position he should have been put in, and it was one he would make goddamn certain never happened again. His blue eyes shone ice cold as he answered firmly, "You have my word, General. This ends now."

The plan was already in his head. The hell with R&R. He was going to spend the next two weeks running them so fucking hard they would be too tired to blink, let alone come up with stupid bullshit stunts like this. If they thought their training at Fort Bragg was bad, they hadn't seen anything yet. One way or another, he was going to get this team through this goddamn war without any of them being court marshaled.

"Well, I'll take your word on that, John. I made it your call in the beginning and I'll leave it your call now." He sighed as he stood. "But you're right, it does end now. You've done a lot of good, and I'll make sure that's recognized when it comes time for promotion. But if we ever have this conversation again," he forced a tight smile, "I'll be handing you transfer paperwork."

The threat was not at all vicious. That didn't make it any less valid. Westman's forced smile remained in place as he extended a hand. "Thank you, General," Hannibal answered as he shook with him. "I would expect nothing less."

He was on notice. There was officially no room for error.

*X*X*X*

Hannibal was irritable. Maybe even pissed. Maybe not. It was a fine line to walk, with him. He knew the role of his commission. He could play the game better than most officers - and drill instructors, for that matter - Face had met. Hard to tell when it was genuine anger, when it was the role, and when he just needed to get laid.

"You okay, Colonel?" Murdock was willing to ask. Face was more inclined to just watch silently, lying on his bunk with his legs crossed at the ankles, until he could figure it out for himself.

In any case, asking accomplished nothing. Hannibal didn't answer. He didn't even afford a glance at Murdock. Face set the book he was reading on his chest as his eyes tracked the colonel across the room to his bunk. There, he grabbed something, walked back, and passed Face without so much as a glance. "Lieutenant, I want to see you in the TOC."

He was pissed.

Setting the book immediately aside, Face rose and grabbed his rifle, taking it with him out of habit as he followed Hannibal out of the team room and across the camp to the TOC. He glanced around as he passed the sandbags to the door. There was nothing immediately obvious about their surroundings that would lend to this mood.

Hannibal was already standing on the other side of the table, staring down at a piece of paper. He heard Face step in, but didn't look up. "Shut the door."

Face straightened at the authoritative, warning tone. Without thought, he slipped into the role of the subordinate soldier, mentally preparing himself for whatever the hell this was about. "Something wrong, Sir?" There was still a chance that it wasn't about him. Whether it was or not, this was still the safest and surest way to not further piss Hannibal off.

"Where is Cruiser?"

Face stared at him blankly for a moment. He hadn't been expecting that. "You gave him a three day pass, Sir. He's probably still in Saigon."

"So you went there together and you came back separately?"

"No, Sir, we all came back last night. Together. He left again this morning and took BA and Snap. I didn't figure he was going to get into too much trouble with the two of them." _Good God, Cruiser, what did you do now?_

Hannibal looked up, eyes burning into Face. "What the _fucking_ hell were you doing in Bangkok last night?"

Face's jaw almost dropped. He'd been expecting anything but that. _How the hell does he know about that? _He pulled himself together quickly, schooling his expression into his practiced blank look. He knew to be careful with his next words. Lying to Hannibal was never a good idea. But neither was self-incrimination. And Face had no idea how much he knew, or how reliable that information was. It was a roll of the dice to call him out on it. But he had no other way of knowing.

"Colonel?" he asked innocently, brow raised.

That was the wrong answer. Face knew everything he needed to know in two-point-three seconds. Hannibal's eyes flashed as he threw the paper across the table in Face's general direction. "Don't you _fucking_ get cute with me! I just spent the past twenty minutes talking to General Westman about why he _shouldn't _court marshal your ass! Now what in God's name possessed you to leave this country without permission!"

Face quickly weighed his options as he watched the papers flutter to the floor. Hannibal obviously had good information. He didn't know where from – he knew he'd run the scam perfectly – but it didn't really matter in the end. Just something to tuck into the back of his mind as he focused on Hannibal's anger. "Well, you see, Hannibal, it's like this…"

Hannibal growled audibly, cutting him off. "You better think long and hard before you try and bullshit me, Lieutenant. I am _more _than a little pissed that I have to hear about this from my commanding officer." The anger, through teeth, turned to yelling rage in a flash. "Are there not enough whores in Saigon to keep the two of you busy?"

The _two _of them. Well, hell, that said a lot. Face filed that piece of information away and made a quick decision. He still had to come up with something to say for himself. "Look, Hannibal, we've been out on how many missions now without a break?" He sighed. "We just wanted to blow off some steam. And granted we got a little carried away but –"

"A _little_ carried away! You took a chopper off of an Army base with fabricated orders and a forged signature from a Colonel who does not even exist! And that's your idea of a _little_ carried away? Jesus Christ, Face, what the hell does a _lot _carried away look like to you!"

Face took a breath. "Colonel, those supplies had to go to Bangkok anyways. We just did it in lieu of someone else who –"

"Who what?" Hannibal shot angrily. "Had orders?"

Face shut his eyes, clenched his jaw, breathed again, composed himself. He wasn't getting anywhere with trying to reason, or justify his actions. Hannibal already knew why they'd done it. He wasn't really looking for an explanation. So what was he looking for?

Face's tone was almost pleading when he tried again. "Come on, Colonel. We both know this is nothing compared to some of the scams we've run."

"And what scams would those be, Lieutenant? You got any more confessions to make? Or should I wait to hear them from the general?"

Face stared back at him coldly. What did he think he was talking about? Face's most complicated scams to date were for Hannibal! "You know that's not what I meant."

Hannibal took a step toward him, finger pointing as if scolding a child. "You go running off on your own, Lieutenant, you are _on_ your own."

Face sighed, and lowered his head. "You're right. I know." Nothing left to do but the submission routine.

"How many times do we have to go over this before you fucking _get_ it? I am _really_ starting to think that I'm doing you a disservice in covering your ass."

Face clenched his jaw, not speaking. He only had apologies, and Hannibal wasn't ready to hear them.

"These are not little infractions, Face! Forging orders and going AWOL is _serious_! Now, I understand that you were not alone in this and believe me, I will have words with Cruiser. But _you _were the one who scammed that chopper. And _you _are the ranking officer when you're out there. And if it comes down to you or him? _You're_ the one who's going to be spending the rest of your life in Leavenworth!"

Face's jaw worked slightly. He wanted a comeback, a defense. There was nothing. He allowed the thoughts tickling the corners of his mind to distract him from the sting of Hannibal's tone. Face wasn't the ranking officer out there; Murdock was. Who the hell did he think was flying the chopper, anyways? But Hannibal had only mentioned Cruiser in the shared guilt. Face continued to stare at the floor as his eyes narrowed. That crazy son of a bitch flyboy sold them out.

Hannibal finally quieted. He stood for a long moment, saying nothing, eyes burning into Face. As the silence lingered, the angry look faded just slightly, and he gave a frustrated sigh as he turned away. "Damn it, Face, I am so tired of being called on the carpet for you. What's next, huh? This was... there wasn't even a reason for it!"

Face made sure to remove any trace of anger from his features before he looked up and met Hannibal's gaze. He didn't like that look of doubt and disappointment in his eyes. He would've rather stuck with the anger. "I'm sorry Hannibal." He didn't have to try to sound remorseful. He hated that goddamn look.

Hannibal hid his face in his hand, rubbing as if to massage away a headache. "Look, Face, I just want you to think about it. Because I can stand here and threaten you until I'm blue in the face about how I'm not going to back you up not one more time. But we both know I will."

He turned and their eyes locked again. Damn it, this was worse than the yelling. Buried underneath the calm exterior, Face was fuming. It wasn't his scam that had brought that air of defeat to Hannibal. Hell the scam worked fine, it was a certain big mouth pilot who needed to be taken care of.

"You're pushing too hard, Lieutenant. Too far. And sooner or later, it's not going to be my call. And nothing I can say is going to save your freedom, much less your rank."

"I'll think about it, Hannibal."

"Think about it when you get these crazy ideas, Face. In case you haven't noticed, our track record isn't what it used to be these past few months. Whatever immunity you might've thought you had before... you don't have it now." He sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the wall, eyes on Face. "You and I had this big discussion once about personal actions and decisions shaming this team. Don't do it, Lieutenant. Just don't do it. It's just that simple."

He felt his checks flush at Hannibal's words – embarrassment and anger. But he ducked his head down, hoping Hannibal hadn't noticed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannibal raise a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. "Now get out of here."

He left in silence. He would think about it. Really, he would. Just as soon as he found Cruiser and they came up with a way to deal with their "rat" problem.

*X*X*X*

"What the hell, Face?" Cruiser seemed both surprised and irritated. It was an odd combination of emotions on his face. "Your scam got us _caught_?"

Face frowned, and glanced up as Cruiser sat down on the bunk next to his. "The scam was flawless."

"Yeah? Then why did Hannibal just ream my ass for it?"

Face watched him for a moment, then sat up and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You catch the part about how it was the _two _of us out there?"

Cruiser frowned. "Two of us?"

Face nodded. "Hannibal asked me something about the whores in Saigon not being enough for the _two _of us."

He could see the gears turning in Cruiser's head. "Two of us meaning _not _Murdock. Who was clearly there because he _flew _the damn thing."

"Uh huh. Which makes a little more sense when you consider the fact that the _three _of us were the only ones who knew about what went on last night."

Cruiser growled, and covered his face with his hand. "Fucking shit…" He stood, and turned away, walking a few paces. "What the fuck are we supposed to do about that?"

"Well, actually, that's what I've been sitting here thinking about."

Cruiser looked back at him, over his shoulder. "And you got an idea?"

Face smiled wickedly. "I got a few of 'em."


	20. Chapter Eighteen

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

Hannibal's drills were straight from the pits of hell. Face had been expecting it; he knew the colonel was pissed. Murdock wasn't expecting it. He'd probably thought IA drills (among other things) were no more strenuous than those stateside PT tests. But he was wrong. And Hannibal was a bitchof a drill instructor. He was happy to run them into the ground on a normal day. When he was pissed? Face knew it was best to save the breath he would've otherwise used to protest the cruel and unusual punishment.

They trained in the jungle, close to the base at Tay Ninh. That, of course, created the added pressure brought on by the fact that there was a potential for real enemy in the trees. It was a physical and emotional exhaustion, but it was one Face had been prepared for. Murdock was not prepared for it. He was face down on the floor in the team room.

Cruiser was standing in the doorway, watching him with amusement as he lit a cigarette – his first of the day and it was already evening. Hannibal hadn't given them time to take a piss, or eat, much less smoke. They'd sustained on copious amounts of water, and pure adrenaline. And right now, they were sustaining on determination alone.

Face cast a wicked grin at Cruiser as he lit up his own smoke. "Think we should get him up?" he asked quietly.

Cruiser's smile was in his eyes as he watched Murdock. He was sprawled on the floor. Poor flyboy hadn't even made it to the bed. "I think he looks like he needs a drink."

"Or two."

"Or ten."

Face chuckled.

"Come on, Murdock. Up and at 'em."

Face took a few steps, crouched down, and grabbed the pilot under the arm. Cruiser grabbed the other side as Murdock moaned in agonizing protest. "Nooo…"

Cruiser laughed. "Come on," he ordered, standing Murdock up on his own two feet. He swayed a little, unsteadily. "Start walking. Your feet will figure it out."

Face moved a hand to his back and gave him a shove. Sure enough, Murdock's feet figured out what to do. Instead of falling on his face, he walked robot-like toward the door. "Where are we going?" he mumbled.

"You survived a whole week of recon training," Face said with a grin.

"Now it's about time for us to buy you a drink," Cruiser finished.

Murdock missed a step and very nearly fell head over heels out of the hootch and down the steps. "Aw, man, I don't want a drink." He sounded half asleep. "I want a nice comfortable bed… and a fan… maybe even air conditioning."

"The officer's club is air conditioned," Cruiser reminded him.

"Ugh… noooo…"

"Come on." Face chuckled, putting an arm around the taller man's shoulders. Face wasn't all that steady himself. His legs felt like jello. "Look at it this way. Next week, you'll have some endurance built up."

"Next week?" Murdock repeated weakly.

"We're going into the An Lao Valley in the morning. Bright Light."

Murdock stopped dead and Face almost fell over as he tried to stop with him.

"Alright, guys," Murdock said, firmly and distinctly coherent. "Going somewhere means I have to fly."

Cruiser and Face exchanged smirks. _Yes, that's the idea, pilot…_

Murdock turned and headed back toward the hootch. But he only made it two steps before Cruiser and Face grabbed him. "Guys, I need sleeeeeeep."

"One drink," Cruiser bargained.

"And just remember, Murdock…" Slowly, Murdock turned toward Face. The lieutenant gave him a wicked smile. "This whole thing was your bright idea."

"Don't remind me," Murdock groaned.

Face laughed.

"Oh, don't worry," Cruiser said. "I don't think you'll ever forget it."

*X*X*X*

The sun wasn't up yet when Hannibal flipped on the light in the team room. "Up and at 'em, guys, let's go!" It didn't matter that it was the middle of the night; he was just as awake and alert as if it had been the middle of the afternoon. "Murdock, get that chopper cranked. I wanna leave in thirty minutes."

Murdock groaned. "Five more minutes, Mom."

Hannibal clapped his hands, and the bunks nearest the door. "Let's go! It is 0400 and a beautiful 96 degrees this morning!" Groans from every bunk answered him. "Get up, get your coffee, get your gear, and get your asses out to the chopper. That means _you_!"

Cruiser groaned. His head hurt like hell. The words barely made sense. "Howhot did he just say it was at four o'clock in the morning?"

"Forecast says sunny skies with a high of you-don't-fucking-wanna-know," Snap responded.

"Let's go!" The colonel was full of energy, even at this ungodly hour. "I want everybody ready in fifteen minutes or less!"

"Jesus, are you kidding me?" Cruiser laughed, without humor. "I'm not sure I'll get the room to stop spinning in fifteen minutes."

"Where my clothes?" BA demanded. "Why my clothes not where I put 'em?"

"Was I even wearing clothes yesterday?" Cruiser mused, rising very slowly to his feet. "I can't remember."

"That's not a good sign," Snap yawned.

Cruiser didn't answer. The only thing he remembered was... vodka. Lots and lots of vodka.

"Where my clothes! Where Face? He didn't –"

"BA!" Cruiser was on his feet now, one hand on the bunk to keep himself steady and the other on his forehead as if putting pressure on it would keep his brain from pounding through his skull. "Jesus, man. Stop yelling."

Cruiser watched out of the corner of his eye as Hannibal shook the bunk where Murdock was sleeping. "Up. Now. Let's move. This is your personal invitation, Captain."

Murdock opened his eyes slightly. "Colonel, why are there three of you?"

Cruiser smirked at the glare Hannibal shot him. "If there's three of me, Captain, you've got one hell of a problem. Move!" He turned. "Face! Get up!"

Cruiser glanced to Face's bunk. Hannibal clearly hadn't looked first. The bed was untouched from the night before. "Check the dispensary," Cruiser mumbled. "There's an American nurse here, remember?"

Hannibal headed for the door. "Twenty-eight minutes. Move!"

Cruiser's eyes lingered on Murdock as he turned his head into his pillow, blocking out the light.

"You'd better move it, flyboy. If he wants it cranked in thirty, that doesn't give you much time to get up, get dressed, get coffee, _and _get your pre-flight done."

"He'll have to wait," Murdock slurred, into the pillow.

Cruiser smirked. "Oh, this is going to be a _great _morning."

Snap was already on his feet. "I'll get right on that." He stumbled out the door, still half asleep.

BA had found his clothes. He walked to the pilot's bunk and shook him. "Get up, Murdock! We need you. You gotta fly."

Murdock didn't move. "I'll fly tomorrow."

BA seemed momentarily stunned. "You'll fly now, fool! Now get up!" With that, he grabbed the mattress, and turned it - and Murdock - over onto the floor. Murdock had a 5 foot drop to the floor. It was plenty of time to wake up.

He didn't wake up.

Cruiser watched, terribly amused, as Murdock crashed to the floor and made no effort to get up. He lifted a hand as he rested his head on his other arm. "Pillow?"

BA was dumbfounded. He looked to Cruiser, lost, and Cruiser nodded. "I got this."

BA stood back as Cruiser walked to the sink, grabbed a three gallon bucket of water, crossed the room again, and turned it upside down on Murdock. "Move it, flyboy."

Murdock shot up, onto his knees, startled and sputtering, eyes wide and darting. He was awake now. He hadn't been to that point. "What the hell!" He glared at Cruiser. "Are you fucking –"

"Now you're awake," Cruiser said flatly. "You're welcome. Get the fucking chopper cranked."

Murdock scowled, but didn't answer.

Cruiser was moving comfortably. His head hurt, but he wasn't unsteady on his feet. "I gotta go find Face. BA, why don't you see if you can get our pilot an IV drip with some coffee in it?"

Without another word, he walked out the door.

*X*X*X*

BA had gone for coffee. For a few minutes, Murdock was alone in the room. He didn't hear the door open again, and the first indication he had that he wasn't alone was the sound of Hannibal's voice. "Rough night, Captain?"

The room was spinning and the lights were way too bright. Murdock looked up from the floor. Hannibal was standing near the door, arms crossed as he leaned his shoulder on the wall. "Uh huh."

Damn. Shouldn't have said that.

"Get up," Hannibal ordered coldly.

Murdock used the bed to steady himself and worked his way to his feet. The room spun violently. He dared not let go of the bedpost.

"You look like shit. How many hours of sleep did you get?"

Sit down. He had to sit down. He perched on the edge of the bottom bunk and closed his eyes. "Maybe one?" Where were these words coming from? He tried to keep quiet but the signal wasn't reaching the brain in time.

"That seems like a pretty stupid move since you _knew _we were going out this morning and you knew you'd be flying us." His voice turned nonchalant very suddenly. "But, you must know what you're doing because I'm sure you remember what I told you the last time you were drunk off your ass when it was time to leave camp."

Shit. He remembered that conversation all too well. As he recalled, the exact words were that Hannibal would ship him to the States so fast he'd still be drunk when he touched down.

The mental fog started to clear with that matter. How had this happened? He remembered the drinking, the laughing, the conversation. It had seemed strange at the time, but he hadn't argued. It had been great to spend time with Face and Cruiser and actually feel welcome. He hadn't even realized how many drinks they were buying him.

As he thought about it, it made sense. Face and Cruiser had never been friendly with him before. Suddenly, they wanted to be all buddy-buddy. They'd set him up. He'd been too tired – and then too drunk – to see it the night before, but he saw it plain as day now. God damn it.

Murdock lowered his head. He could tell Hannibal what had happened. But then he would never make any progress with Face. If he didn't tell Hannibal, he'd have to take the consequences of this. He didn't want to give up on all the ground he'd gained with Face. He also didn't want to go home. Neither option was acceptable. He pushed himself upright.

"I'm fine, really. I will sober up and be ready to fly in fifteen."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed at him. "Just how sober are you planning to be, Captain? Because in case you haven't figured this out for yourself, I'm not too keen on putting my team in the hands of a drunk pilot."

Murdock furrowed his eyebrows. My team? Wasn't he part of his team? Maybe that was the hangover talking. "Sir, I will sober and perfectly capable of safely transporting our team."

Hannibal looked him up and down carefully, then turned and walked out of the team room without another word. As he walked out, BA walked back in with a cup of the lukewarm motor oil that passed for coffee. Murdock's stomach churned looking it. Nasty or not, he needed it. He took the cup and drained it. Immediately, he let out a huge belch. Even Face would have been impressed.

"Thanks," he croaked.

He dragged himself to the sink and splashed his face with cold water. Sunken eyes rose to the mirror. He looked like hell.

BA's perpetually furrowed brow creased even more. "Why you go out and get drunk last night? You knew you gotta fly. That's just dumb."

"Face and Cruiser wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Two against one, you know."

"That ain't no excuse!"

Murdock splashed his face again. "Doesn't matter. We still gotta fly." He was impressed that he was able to stand without the room spinning. He made his way to his locker, grabbed his pistol and holstered it. "Okay. I can do this."

As he walked out of the room, Face was leaning on the wall with one foot up behind him and a cigarette in his hand. He smirked as Murdock passed. "Morning, pilot. Sleep well?"

Murdock caught the smirk. But at the moment, he wasn't about to get tangled up with Face. He had to fly. He simply nodded and kept walking toward the chopper.


	21. Chapter Nineteen

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

Cruiser felt like walking dead. He could barely drag himself off the floor of the chopper and back to the team room. The training itself was intense. Training in the An Lao Valley was worse. The training after only two hours of sleep following a night of getting Murdock shitfaced... that was murder. Hannibal had made sure to run them into the ground.

Face was dead asleep in the back of the chopper. Attempts to wake him failed, and Cruiser simply left him there as he dragged himself to the team room. He needed to sleep for a year or two. Then he was sure he'd feel just fine.

"Hey. Cruiser." The abrasive tone brought some measure of intent back to Cruiser's mind. Murdock.

He didn't turn, just kept walking toward where he knew he'd find a bed. "What do you want, flyboy?"

"You wanna tell me what the hell that was about last night? And this morning?"

Fucking hell, he sounded energized. Pissed, but energized. Cruiser took a deep breath as he realized where this conversation was headed. He needed to pull it together. "You tell me," he answered coldly.

"I'd love to. But I can't quite figure it out." Murdock paused for a long moment, walking in stride with Cruiser. "What the hell did I ever do to you?"

Cruiser laughed briefly, without humor. "How 'bout Bangkok, Murdock?"

"What about it?"

Cruiser stopped, dropped his pack on the floor – it felt damn heavy – and spun toward Murdock. As the anger stirred, so did the adrenaline – a push of energy he didn't know he'd had.

"What the hell did you do, go to Westman yourself?"

Murdock's eyes widened. "What? What the hell are you talking about?"

Cruiser saw red. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe the fact that Hannibal had just spent the past sixteen hours running them into the ground over some stupid shit he never should've even heard about. Or the fact that BA was getting dragged in on this too, undeservingly, and Murdock who _deserved_ to be out there today, was asleep in the team room. Whatever it was, Cruiser didn't even realize he was swinging until his fist connected with the pilot's jaw.

Murdock stumbled back, stunned. As he looked up again, his eyes were gleaming with intensity. He gave a slight, sarcastic laugh. "Well, now, that sure clears it up. Except for the whole what the hell do you think I –"

Cruiser heard nothing but the sarcastic tone. He was inviting a fight, and Cruiser was just pissed enough to give it to him. His exhaustion forgotten, he tackled Murdock to the dirt with no regard for his surroundings or who might be watching. A palm strike to Cruiser's face made him growl. Murdock was writhing, trying to get enough room to free his lower body from under Cruiser's weight. He wouldn't succeed.

Cruiser pushed his legs out, away from Murdock's torso, and trapped the pilot's arm between his legs - elbow over his thigh, wrist under his ankle, his torso heavy on top of him. But before he got the other arm down, Murdock brought it up. Fingers against his cheekbone, Murdock jabbed his thumb into Cruiser's left eye. The recoil was instinctive. So was the elbow to the side of Murdock's face. The pilot turned his head just in time to protect his nose.

Murdock didn't have a chance to hit back. Cruiser wasn't sure who was behind him, arms on his shoulders, pulling him off of Murdock, but they were strong enough and determined enough to jerk him to his feet. Stumbling, he kept his attention locked dead center on Murdock, who had scrambled to his knees, spitting out blood into the dirt.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" the pilot yelled.

Cruiser almost smiled at the blood. He probably would've if he wasn't so goddamn pissed. "You're a fucking rat." He didn't rub his eye, despite the fact that it hurt like hell. "Just own up to it instead of sitting there lying about it like a fucking pussy!"

"You think I ratted you out?" Murdock laughed bitterly, his eyes blazing with anger and something deeper. More dangerous. Something that wasn't discussed. "Six months in a hole in the ground didn't turn me into rat, why would I start now?"

Cruiser didn't hear the logic. "Fuck you, man!"

"No, fuck you!"

"You get dressed down by Hannibal for the Bangkok shit?" Cruiser snarled. "'Cause I sure as hell did. And so did Face. And funny how your name never even fucking came up, like you _weren't _the one who flew the fucking chopper!"

"Well, maybe they verified the orders, Cruiser! Maybe Face is losing his edge. Did you even fucking _think _of that?"

Cruiser wasn't sure why, but those words tapped the adrenaline all over again and he struggled to break the grip on his arms. But he didn't have a chance.

"Hey!"

The authoritative voice made him stop on instinct alone. Jaw clenched, breathing hard, he flexed his fists but didn't move as Hannibal stepped between the two of them. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Cruiser breathed hard. Murdock wiped the blood from his mouth again. Neither one of them answered for along moment. When Murdock finally spoke, it was to Cruiser – not Hannibal. And it was deadly calm. "You don't know me at all, do you?" he said, his voice like ice, completely void of emotion. "You think I would rat you out? For what? To save myself a reprimand?" He laughed darkly. "Yeah, Cruiser. I came all the way back to Vietnam just to get you a dressing down. I try to be your friend, just so I can get Hannibal to yell at you. 'Cause of course, that's what it's all about."

"Fuck you, flyboy." Cruiser was still angry, but the vicious intent was gone. Slowly, the grip on his arms released.

"You know, I'm not sure what's more upsetting," Murdock finished as he felt inside his mouth for loose teeth. "That you think I'm a rat? Or that you think I'm so fucking stupid."

Cruiser glared at him for a long moment, then cast a quick glance at Hannibal, who was watching him with eyes narrowed. But he wasn't keeping him there. Putting his shoulders back, Cruiser turned away wordlessly and grabbed his pack off the ground, then headed toward the team room.

*X*X*X*

Hannibal had let them sleep until almost 0800. He'd run them for only four hours – and not off the base – and had volunteered them for repairing one of the bunkers that had been damaged by the most recent shelling. But all in all, it had been an easy day in comparison. He was giving them a break.

After they'd eaten, he'd let them go rest. They'd be up at 0400 again in the morning and anyone for _any _reason caught drinking between now and then would regret it for the next week. But they'd been given the night to sleep or do whatever it was they wanted to do.

At least that's what they'd thought.

"Cruiser, Face, I want to see you two in the TOC."

Cruiser and Face exchanged glances. That almost casual tone of Hannibal's didn't indicate anything was off, but they didn't have anything but down time, and Hannibal was good at making use of that. The bigger concern, of course, was the fact that the two of them in combination had had nothing but a shit storm to deal with every time Hannibal wanted a word with them recently.

Face looked as wary as Cruiser felt. Nevertheless, they both threw their stuff on the bunks and walked outside. Hannibal was long gone, and Cruiser paused to light up a cigarette.

"What do you think it is this time?" he asked, under his breath.

"I think it's about Murdock."

Cruiser gave a brief, humorless laugh. "What else is fucking new?"

Inside the TOC, Hannibal was waiting with a cigar, leaning back in one of the chairs against the wall. He gestured them in and waited for the door to close before he spoke calmly, almost casually. "Someone want to tell me what's going on here?"

Cruiser looked from Hannibal to Face. This was like being called to the principal's office - if the principal was skilled at hand-to-hand combat and could work a 50 cal. machine gun. This was Face's game – reading people, navigating verbal minefields. Cruiser didn't have the patience for it. By "someone," Hannibal meant Face; he could count Cruiser out. Besides, Hannibal was being awfully vague. No reason to offer himself up for anymore reprimands than he seemed to have coming.

Hannibal seemed to know he was talking to Face. His brows raised in the lieutenant's direction as he waited for a response. Face kept his expression neutral as he took in a deep breath. "He's been keeping us up every night, Hannibal."

The direct approach. It was probably the way Cruiser would've gone, too. Face was being intentionally vague - not denying, that was stupid, they were here for a reason - but not admitting either. Shifting blame.

"We're tired," Face continued, emotionlessly. "And to make it worse he can't take a hint and back off."

Hannibal stared at him. The expression was blank. Only Hannibal could get that _completely_ unreadable look. He let the silence linger for a long, uncomfortable moment, then glanced at Cruiser with a look of... amusement? He couldn't possibly be amused by this. But his brows were up and he didn't seem too terribly confrontational. Or upset. "Sergeant?"

Damn. Cruiser had been hoping to stay out of this as much as possible.

"Anything to add?"

"Not really," Cruiser said flatly. "Man's a pain in the ass to live with, Colonel."

"And yet you still took him to Bangkok with you. Or was that just because you needed a ride?" The tone matched the expression - neutral. But it definitely had an undercurrent to it. An accusation.

Cruiser's eyes narrowed at that. Why was Murdock just _now_ being associated with Bangkok? Awfully convenient timing if he did say so himself. What they hell was this all about anyway? Hannibal got some new special project and all of a sudden they are supposed to eat up this bullshit? Because the pilot wanted to learn to shoot a rifle?

If nothing else, Cruiser had expected a better line out of Hannibal. He clamped his jaw shut and, for good reason, let Face again take the lead on this.

"It's not like we had to talk him into it, Hannibal," Face said flatly, with just a hint of resentment. "He was more the willing to go."

"That's not the point," Hannibal answered.

Cruiser was dying to ask why the hell they were talking about this again, since they both got reamed for it already. If Hannibal truly did know everything, then he knew Murdock got what he deserved for being a rat. How could Hannibal support someone who would sell out his own teammates like that? Regardless of what the offense had been.

Hannibal leaned forward, letting the front legs of the chair drop again to the floor. "You guys are not stupid," he said coldly. "You needed a ride to Bangkok and you knew he'd do damn near anything for you, just to feel like part of this team and for the record," he paused and looked straight at Cruiser with piercing eyes, as if he could read his mind, "_that_ is why he's getting off light on this whole thing. Because pranks and mischief are one thing and going AWOL is something completely different. I know he didn't come up with that one on his own."

Cruiser leaned forward, his hands on the desk. He couldn't help it. He had no tolerance for this crap and Hannibal knew it. "That's bullshit," he growled. "You want to sit here and play recess aide, that's your prerogative. Face and I - we fucked up. I get that. But guess what. Flyboy was there too. And this special treatment shit is exactly that."

Hannibal's eyes blazed, but only briefly. His tone was hard - full of controlled but intense anger when he spoke again. "Special treatment shit? He's a fucking _pilot_, Cruiser! He doesn't belong on the ground, period, and I'd be willing to run him just as hard as the rest of you except when I do, you take advantage of that!"

"Take advantage!" Cruiser was seeing red.

"He's a grown up Hannibal," Face interrupted. "He chose to go to Bangkok, and then he chose to tell people about it. If you hadn't pulled him in on those drills I think I would've had something to say about it. Because then he would've had no consequence for his actions, no responsibility, but everyone else - including BA, who had nothing to do with this by the way - had to pay."

"I'm not disputing that he had a choice, Lieutenant," Hannibal said firmly. "But you two have certainly manipulated your way around this entire situation and I don't like it." He looked straight at Face. "You _especially _know how I feel about it."

Face bristled. "Now, wait a minute, I –"

"Choices are only choices when you make them while fully aware," Hannibal interrupted. "And don't you _even _stand there and tell me that it was Murdock's idea to go to Bangkok or that it was his idea to get shitfaced the other night when he knew he had to fly which, by the way, pisses me off a _hell _of a lot more!" He paused, but only briefly, looking back and forth between them. "As far as I'm concerned, the incident in Bangkok is closed. But your deliberate sabotage of another member of this team is what I would call a major fuck up."

Cruiser pushed himself off the desk again. "Nobody held a gun to his head and forced a bottle of vodka down his throat."

Fuck. So much for plausible deniability.

Hannibal's jaw clenched and the first sign of that vicious, dangerous anger flashed in his eyes. He rarely ever got that look. Cruiser hadn't seen it since Face had called him on the carpet for his treatment of Devon. "Don't you even fucking start with me, Sergeant," he warned, low and threatening.

Cruiser fought the urge to take a few steps away from Hannibal. That was not the response he'd been expecting. What the fuck was that about? Lowering his head a fraction, he kept his eyes on Hannibal. "Start what, Colonel?" he asked cautiously. "You called me in here."

That fire was still in Hannibal's eyes, but his tone was less volatile when he spoke again. "Look me in the eye and tell me that you did not manipulate him into that drinking stunt - that it was not some kind of fucked up act of retribution for the fact that I had dealt with you two before him - and it will be the _last _thing you do on my team."

He was dead serious. Cruiser found himself staring, confused. But he had nothing to say or do except to drop his eyes.

The tension died down as Cruiser looked away. Hannibal sat back again and took a few deep, calming breaths. In the lingering silence, he lit his cigar and closed his eyes, regaining his composure and his thoughts. "My point is." He paused, took another breath, and looked back up at the two of them. "What you did was wrong. And I want it to stop now. This is not a college dorm; it is a combat zone. And if you two can't figure out for yourselves why I am harder on you than on the emotionally unstable - but damn good - pilot, then you've got some rethinking to do."

Cruiser had any number of arguments to hash out with the complete lack of logic Hannibal seemed to be displaying here. But he said nothing. He simply stood still, waiting for a reason to get out of this damn room.

"Hannibal," Face said quietly. "Why is it okay for him to sabotage us? He went to Westman, for cryin' out loud. We could have been court marshaled."

Hannibal looked up at him, and sighed. "What the hell are you talking about, Lieutenant?" he asked, resigned.

Cruiser stood there. He heard everything. His brain registered the anger and disagreement with it, but in between - the part that reasoned things out - wasn't engaging.

"It's the only way Westman could have found out."

Hannibal stared at him as if he'd just grown a second head. "Face, they called to verify the orders when the real pilot and crew showed up. It didn't have a damn thing to do with Murdock."

The longer Cruiser stood in this room, the angrier he was getting at this whole damn thing. This was the second time in week he was getting dressed down, and Hannibal had neither right nor reason.

"I want this to stop. Now."

Jaw clenched, Cruiser stood fuming. He heard the words. He didn't care.

"You are adults and we are a team. Therefore this should not be tremendously difficult. Pack up, and move on. It is _not_. Worth it. Do you understand?"

The words "yes sir" were out of Face's mouth instantly. Crisp and clean, just like he had said a hundred times before. Cruiser's jaw clenched. He needed out of this room.

"You have something to say to me, Sergeant?" Hannibal's voice rang with a challenge. "Say it."

Something to say? He had a million things to say. But that wouldn't get him out of this room. So instead, he gave a simple, "No. Nothing." It was through clenched teeth and he was sure the tone indicated the exactly opposite of his words. And at the moment, he didn't give a flying fuck.

Hannibal studied him for a long moment, letting the silence linger. Then, finally, he glanced away. "Then in that case, you're dismissed. And I don't want to hear another word about this."

Cruiser spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, shoving the door open with no regard for the hinges.

*X*X*X*

Face was silent as he left the TOC and headed back towards the team room, boots squishing in the mud. He didn't bother trying to hurry or dodge or cover from the rain. The torrential downpour that had started up again kept everything soaking wet, including him, most all the time. He didn't much care at the moment.

Everything about Cruiser radiated hostility. The rain might as well have not been pouring, and anyone walking that may have crossed paths with him either moved or he walked through them. He slammed the door to the team room open, equal parts hand and foot shoving it out of his way.

"Fucking bullshit."

Face followed a few steps behind, saying nothing, stepping into the team room with more regard for the door's hinges and immediately stripping his shirt to wring it out on the floor. "He had to say something about it," Face said quietly. He wasn't sure why he was defending Hannibal, or if he even was. Really, he was just trying to calm Cruiser the hell down before he started breaking shit. "Murdock flying drunk is not exactly okay, even if he does have Snap to handle the controls."

Cruiser spun around to face him. "The fuck you talking about?"

Face put up his hands in surrender. "Just saying."

"Fuck Murdock! And Snap for that matter. That's two in a row you fucked up, Lieutenant! And damned if I didn't just get my ass chewed again because you can't pull your shit together!"

Face blinked, startled by the accusation. "Excuse me?"

Cruiser wasn't having any of it. "Don't give me that shit. You fucked the orders for the flight and now Murdock getting sloppy drunk. Exactly what part of this did you manage to pull off?"

Face's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't the only one involved in getting Murdock shitfaced."

"No. You were just the one who concocted this master plan to get his ass taken care of." He glared pointedly at Face. "Nice job."

"If you'd had a better idea, you could've spoken up at any time," Face shot back, angrily. "Or if you preferred, you could've just bent the fuck over and did nothing and I would've dealt with it all by myself."

"Yeah? Cause there's so much fucking difference with what just happened."

Face smiled without humor. At least it had been Hannibal and not Murdock. "If we'd been right, can you even imagine where it would've led if we hadn't done anything about it?"

Cruiser glared at him. "Who the fuck cares? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"The hell is wrong with _you_? We went to Bangkok, we got caught. We decided to get Murdock drunk and we got caught there too. Whatever Hannibal said, we fucking deserved it. Get over it."

"Get over it?" That dead cold in his voice made Face's eyes narrow. Cruiser was looking for a fight. And he was out for blood.

"That's what I said."

Cruiser took a step towards Face. "You deserve whatever you got. I just got my ass chewed for no reason other than you can't get your shit together. Or are you going to stand there and tell me that had nothing to do with _you_?"

"It had everything to do with me," Face answered coldly. "But I didn't force you to participate. You're just as culpable as I am and if you don't _like _that Hannibal saw that, well, that's just too damn bad."

Face stood his ground, not backing away but not stepping up to the threat either. Cruiser's eyes burned into him.

"You'd better make damn sure it doesn't happen again," Cruiser growled. "That chess match in that brain you got running up there. You better know for damn sure you're gonna checkmate, cause I'm done covering your ass."

Face laughed bitterly, without humor. "Since when have I _ever _needed you to cover my ass, Cruiser?"

"What the hell do you think just happened!"

"I think you shut up and stood back and let me to all the talking. Or did I _miss_ the part where you took responsibility for your part in all this?"

"How about the part where Hannibal dressed me down for manipulation, which is your fucking game? I didn't see you jumping in there to do all the talking and take responsibility."

"It might be my game, but you were just as much a part of it as I was. Don't fucking play innocent, like you didn't know what you were doing."

"I knew exactly what we were doing. I just put too much confidence in your sorry ass."

He shoved a finger into Face's chest to emphasize his point. The contact was enough to elicit a thoughtless response. Face pulled back and brought his fist to Cruiser's jaw with enough force to send him stumbling back. It was instinct. He couldn't help it.

Cruiser stumbled backwards, any self control he may have managed to reign in in the past few minutes since getting out of Hannibal's office was gone in a flash. He had Face up against the wall, cheek against the plywood with his arm wrenched up between his shoulders faster than the younger man could even think to fight back.

"Don't even fucking start this shit with me!"

He pushed Face harder into the wall, his forearm bracing against the back of Face's neck so that he couldn't move. Face growled, and only struggled briefly before he realized he was taking a risk of dislocating his shoulder if he pulled too much.

"I didn't start _any _of this. You wanted to go to Bangkok and I fucking enabled you. And we had an equal part to play in the shit with Murdock. You getting all pissy about it doesn't change a damn thing."

"Push me, Lieutenant! Fuck up again. Just once more."

Face's eyes narrowed at the threat. "What are you going to do, Cruiser? Beat me up?"

Cruiser pulled up on Face's arm, more than enough to cause pain. Face winced, raising up onto the balls of his feet to alleviate the pressure and avoid injury.

"Try me, boy," Cruiser snarled. "The next time you get some bright idea, you better fucking think it through."

Face answered through his teeth. "It was _not _my idea to go to Bangkok in the first place."

"Going to Bangkok wasn't the problem."

"Going to Bangkok was what started all of this.

Cruiser spun Face around, shoving him back against the wall before he took a step away, staring him down. "This shit got started when Hannibal got wind of it. That's it. And that's on you."

Face shook his head slowly. "You can blame me all you want, Cruiser. But all it really says is that you don't have a mind of your own to make your own goddamn decisions. And that I've got to make them for you."

Cruiser swung. Face saw it. And he barely had time to block the first blow. He didn't block the second. Or the third. A few attempts to hit back failed, and finally he just dropped down into a ball, arms up to protect his face. At that, Cruiser finally stopped. A few angry footsteps and the door slammed shut. Face lowered his arms as he finally looked up, and wiped the blood from his nose and mouth.


	22. Chapter Twenty

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

Face had been saving the bottle of bourbon for a special occasion. It was be an occasion that didn't involve Cruiser – he hated the stuff – and didn't need any flashy ceremony. In fact, the only ceremony that came with tonight was a lull in the torrential rains. And thank God for that.

The Rock Marine LZ was in the middle of fucking nowhere. Sandbag bunkers and cleared fields in every direction. If the sappers made it all the way to the concertina – which they wouldn't since there was a hell of a lot of wide open space between the jungle and the edge of the camp, and towers with armed Marines inside – they wouldn't get much further. There were charges set outside the wire in all directions except right through the front gate. It was probably one of the safer camps in Vietnam.

The fact that it was miles from nowhere also meant, like it or not, Face was having a night in with his bottle of liquor. That wasn't a bad thing. Actually, given the opportunity to go out, he probably would've stayed in. It was one of those nights when all he really wanted was, quite simply, to be alone. He chose to spend it on top of the sandbagged bunker, lying on his back with his legs hanging off the side. It was hot and muggy as per usual, and there was no reason whatsoever for clothes at this point. His fatigues were bunched under his head for a pillow as he stared up at the sky.

He was tired. Tired of being wet, tired of the tension in his shoulders, tired of the headache that hadn't seemed to want to go away for the past three days. The liquor seemed to somehow be helping with that. Not that it lessened the pain, really. It just made him care about it that much less.

Cruiser was still pissy as hell about the dress down from Hannibal a few days before. Murdock had been wise to stay out of his way. Face hadn't been so lucky as to be avoided. Everywhere he'd turned, the pilot had been there – wanting to talk, wanting to keep company, wanting to be a part of things. It was driving Face up the fucking wall.

If he could just back off – just for a few hours, even – it might've given Face the chance to actually feel guilty over the forced drinking beige. He didn't need to be any further convinced that Murdock hadn't told anyone about Bangkok. He believed Hannibal. The problem was that every time he even started to think of what it would mean to apologize for the misunderstanding, Murdock was right there in his face, clinging onto him like a lost child. Or maybe more accurately, a lost puppy; there seemed to be no higher brain function involved in the kind of clinginess he'd shown lately.

Murdock wanted a friend. On some level, Face understood that. It was nice to have someone to lean on – someone he could trust to watch his back. Cruiser was that for him, and had been for years now. But what Murdock thought of when he said "friend" was not even in the same universe. He wanted someone to share emotion with – pain, joy, fear, excitement… Someone to be deeply an inseparably joined to. He wanted a fucking soul mate, a best friend who would be there for him on an emotional level, come hell or high water. And he didn't seem to grasp the fact that Face was not – nor could he ever be – that soul mate.

Face couldn't, and he didn't want to be. Painful experience had taught him what it meant to emotionally connect to someone on the battlefield. True, there was some bond that was shared throughout the team – throughout any team – by necessity. They mourned as a whole when one of their own was lost. But a round of "Old Blue" and a beer and a couple of tears didn't suffice for the kind of friend Murdock was talking about. There was a risk involved in Murdock's kind of friend that was far beyond the level that Face was willing to go.

Not in Vietnam. Maybe not ever.

"Hey, Face, we need to talk."

Face had been dozing lightly. He awoke with a start and immediately his hand was on his rifle, his other hand spilling bourbon on his chest. He sat bolt upright as he realized it and tipped the bottle back up, but kept his grip on the gun on instinct alone. "Jesus fucking Christ, Murdock! You trying to get yourself killed?"

He flicked the liquor off of his arm as he set the weapon aside again, and took a second to glare intently at Murdock. He wasn't seeing straight. A quick glance at the bottle told him he'd had more to drink than what was probably wise, given that he almost surely knew where this conversation was going to go. It was the same damn song and dance every time. And Face realized with a flash of anger that he just did not have the patience for it tonight. He wanted to be alone, damn it. That's why he'd crawled up on top of the building to sit on the uncomfortable corrugated tin roof.

The pilot ran a hand through his hair, his eyes full of worry and concern. "Face, I didn't tell anyone about Bangkok."

Face rolled his eyes as he reached back and grabbed his shirt, using it to wipe the liquor off his arm. Well, all the attempts to circumvent the topic and just be buddies had failed – why not try the direct approach?

"Murdock... I don't care, okay? I really don't."

"I get that your pissed Face," Murdock continued. "I would be too. But I didn't tell anyone about it. Why would I do that, man?"

"Damned if I can figure out why you do _anything_ you do."

Face shot him another glare as he threw the shirt back on top of the pants. He was more than a little irritated by the intrusion. He couldn't think of any way that he might've made his wish for solitude any clearer. Eyes locked on the pilot, he tried to bring them into full focus. Between the darkness and the booze, it wasn't going to happen.

"Why are we talking about this?" he demanded.

"Because, Face, it doesn't even make sense."

Murdock's tone was undercut with a deep emotion – emotion that Face didn't want to touch with a ten foot pole. There was an urgency, an insistence, a need. And Face didn't want anything to do with _any _of that. He knew what Murdock was looking for, but any acknowledgment of what the pilot was saying would be interpreted as an acceptance not only of what Murdock's innocence, but all of the emotion that went with it. The mere thought of that was exhausting.

"What do you want, flyboy?" he asked, abrasively.

Murdock grabbed his pack of smokes and held them like a talisman. "I want you to know that I would never do anything to hurt you or another member of the team, no matter what."

Oh, Jesus. The way he said it was more like a mantra then a statement. They were the words he lived by, the core of what he believed, his heart laid bare on the altar. He was so fucking needy it was sickening. And there was absolutely nothing Face could say to that.

Face shut his eyes, clamped his jaw, and took a deep breath. He could feel the alcohol in his blood, and it blurred his logic. Maybe if he just ignored him, he would go away. But when that didn't work after several long moments of silence, he finally turned his head, raised his brows, and asked very calmly, "Anything else?"

Murdock shifted uncomfortably, tapped two cigarettes out of the pack, and put one between his lips. "Right now, that's the big one."

The other cigarette, he held out to Face. Face looked at the cigarette, looked at Murdock, and didn't move. He knew this game. This was the "sharing" game. It was more than it looked like. Ever since Nha Trang, it was some kind of fucking existential encounter to bum a smoke. Even the pangs of nicotine withdrawal couldn't have gotten Face to take that cigarette from him. Not when he was trying so damn hard to emotionally connect.

"I just… It's important to me, Face." Realizing Face wasn't going to take the cigarette, Murdock tucked it behind his ear and found his lighter. "It's important to me that you realize I'd never do anything like that. I can't believe that you _don't _know that! I mean, why would you even think…?"

Murdock trailed off. Face was planning exit routes. Damn it, why did Murdock have to corner him up here? He wasn't even dressed. His grip flexed around the glass bottle in his hand and he sighed audibly as he reached back and grabbed his pants. He was not sticking around to have this conversation. He knew how it ended.

"What do you expect me to say, Murdock? I'm sorry?" He jerked his pants up so fast, he almost lost his balance in the effort to stand up.

"No, that's not –"

"Fine, okay?" Face interrupted him. "Fine. I'm sorry."

Murdock stared at him. "What the hell are you sorry for?"

Ignoring him, Face buttoned the pants and reached for his shirt. "Now why don't you go..." Shit, what was there to even suggest for him to do around here? He swept his shirt up, and the bottle, but barely paused to regain his balance before he stumbled across the sandbagged rooftop. "Fuck off, will you?"

"You think I want an apology?" Murdock stood and followed. "I don't need that shit. I just need you to know, to understand."

Face growled audibly as he dropped down to the ground. Murdock was only a few steps behind.

"I'm your friend, man," Murdock said firmly. He tapped his chest, as if to reiterate his point. "I would never betray your trust. I meant what I said. I ain't going anywhere, Face."

Face spun around, raising his voice to a yell. "I believe you, Murdock!" His jaw clenched as he stared Murdock down, eyes blazing. Shit. He just wanted to be alone. Why couldn't the pilot grasp that? He turned away, but spun back before Murdock had a chance to take a following step. "What the fuck do you want from me, huh?"

"Your friend," Murdock answered. "I just want to be your friend, Face. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"You're like a... like a _leech_! Is there any fucking place I can go to get away from you?"

Murdock's eyes flashed. It wasn't anger. It was something much deeper and more complex. "No."

"Jesus! Are you crazy or something? How many different ways can I make it clear to you that I'm not _l_ookingfor a friend?"

"I don't care if you're looking or not. You need it."

Face's anger blazed. "Fuck you! You don't know a goddamn thing about me. And I swear to God, if you don't back the fuck off I'm gonna beat the shit out of you."

"You think a couple bruises in some nasty comments are gonna stop me?" Murdock gave a snort of something like laughter. "You do what you gotta do Face and I will still be right here."

Face stared at him, dumbfounded. "Are you fucking serious? Are you really that dense?"

"I'm dead serious, Face." The tone in his voice and the look in his eyes made it so. Face didn't doubt him for a second.

Stunned by the sheer stupidity being exhibited in front of him, Face shook his head. He was, flat out, bewildered. "What is it you think you're going to get out of this?"

Murdock's voice lowered. "The only thing I want is for you to drop the mask and be the Face behind it."

Face's eyes narrowed into slits as drunken anger crept over, under, around, and through the confusion. That was what it all came down to, wasn't it? That deep bond, that unending friendship and emotional nakedness. He wanted into those places of Face's psyche that even _Face _didn't go. Places that he protected fiercely, even viciously.

"I should've left you in the fucking camp. You know that?"

If anything should've gotten through Murdock's thick skull, Face would have expected that to be it. But instead of shock, or horror, or hurt… Murdock only smiled. But that smile was something cold and almost frightening. Something that came out of a place so dark that sane men never went there. It was a crocodile smile, all teeth and no warmth.

"That would've been easier for everyone, Facey. But you can't change it now."

Face glared at him. But he had nothing to say. He'd played his high card, and gotten called. And he had nothing to follow with but simmering anger and an insane urge to take a long drink from the bottle in his hand.

"I can tell you this much," Murdock continued with that same haunting tone. He paused to take a long drag off of his cigarette. "Short of killing me, leaving me there was your only chance to get rid of me."

Face growled audibly. How did that make any sense at all? He couldn't even fathom, much less understand what was going on in the pilot's head. "Why the hell would you want to hang around someone who doesn't want you there?"

"Because, this isn't about want, Faceman," he accented each part of the name, "and it never has been."

"Well, in that case I am really fucking confused. Because I've made it pretty clear what I want."

"None of us wanted this Face. We _need_ it. There's a difference."

Face rolled his eyes. "Oh, hell."

"You can control want; need controls you."

"I don't need you, flyboy!" He was so frustrated with his inability to communicate that simple point, he wasn't even able to control his volume level. His voice was echoing in the still night.

"Well, maybe I need you!" Murdock yelled back.

Face glared at him for a long moment, silent, watching. Murdock's smile broke, finally. He took a deep breath, turned his head away, and drew in a long hit from the cigarette. "I need to be here," he continued, his voice dropping. "I need to be your friend. I can't stop. I can't and I won't. No matter what you do."

The challenge had been put out long ago. It was naïve when he'd said it the first time. Stupid. But now, he knew what he was saying. Now he was upping the stakes. Fine. Face could play that game. In fact, he could play it exceedingly well. All it took was a willingness to get up close and personal, to not pull punches. The corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile. If a direct approach didn't work, underhanded tactics sure as hell would.

His eyes gleamed as he stepped in closer, dark and dangerous. "You wanna be my friend, Murdock?" There was a wicked, threatening tone in his voice, and he saw the wary look in the pilot's eyes. Feeding off of the uncertainty – it was his greatest weapon and he knew it – Face stepped in too close, violating Murdock's personal space. In fact, he pressed right up against him. "Let's go find a back alley somewhere in Saigon and be friends. Just you and me, huh flyboy?"

Startled by the sudden invasion of his space, Murdock took two big steps back – away from the unwelcome contact. The first step back was instinct – a need to protect himself from the threat. The second step was for comfort.

"You... I... What do...? Man, Face..." Finally, the pilot didn't know what to say.

"Come on, Murdock," Face taunted, taking a step closer again. "You're the one who wants to get in my head, find out who I really am under all this."

With a slow shake of his head, Murdock seemed to gather his thoughts. "You really would, wouldn't you?"

Face smiled wickedly. "Try me and find out."

Murdock laughed with no humor. "Nice, Face. Don't wanna kill me out right; you might get in trouble. But it shouldn't be too hard right? Lots of people already wanna beat the shit outta me. Maybe with the right lie - or hell, you might not even need to lie - you could get someone to go just a little further."

Face moved forward again, but it was slow. He gave Murdock plenty of time to back up. "You wanna know me? Come get into my head and see what kind of sick and twisted fantasies are in there?"

It was Murdock's turn to be taken aback now – uncomfortable and not sure how to react. He was on the defense now. And chances were, he wasn't even sure how he'd gotten there. But as long as he was off-balance, there was no chance for him to keep pushing Face into some direction he didn't want to go.

"You wanna get me TWEPed 'cause I won't walk away from this? 'Cause I won't leave you?"

To his amusement, Face realized he had absolutely no problem with Murdock believing that. It hadn't been his intention; the whole act was just intended to push the pilot a big step back. But if it had a more lasting effect… all the better.

"Don't want that kinda friend, flyboy?" he challenged.

Murdock tipped his head slightly as he stared at him. For a long moment, he was silent. Then, finally, he sighed. "Ya know, here's the thing." He finished his cigarette, and dropped it on the ground, smashing it into the mud with his boot. "That's not what really bothers me."

Face raised a brow. "Which part?"

"I don't care what kind of a messed up view you have on what it means to be a friend. And I don't give a flying fuck if you're gay, Face."

Face glared hate-filled daggers Murdock for that. "You have entirely missed the fucking point."

"No, I got the point. And that's what bothers me. What gets me is the way you'd…" He shook his head. "You'd use anything for hate, wouldn't you? Or just means to an end. Is there anything in the whole world that's sacred with you?"

"No," Face answered firmly. Somehow, he'd lost the edge here. Maybe it was time just to walk away. Putting his hands up to Murdock's shoulders, he shoved him hard, the bottle in one hand sloshing as he did. "And I don't need your fucking friendship. I just. Want. To be alone. Got it?"

He turned without another word, and walked away. This time, thankfully, Murdock didn't follow him.


	23. Chapter Twenty One

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

"He should've left you in the camp."

Murdock grit his teeth. "Shut up, Alan. I'm not talking to you right now."

"He should've left you there to die in that pitch black room."

"I said shut up."

"With the rats who'd eat your flesh the same way you ate theirs."

"God damn it, shut up!"  
Murdock spun, and glared at the man he knew wasn't really there. He could feel his pulse racing the instant he saw him – eyes full of hate, a wicked, knowing smirk on his lips. There was vicious criticism radiating off of him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. But he wasn't really there. Murdock knew that in the same way he knew the sun still existed in the dead of winter when it hadn't been seen in weeks. But like the sun, reality was a distant truth. It was a truth covered over by lies that tricked his brain and made the man in front of him – a man he _knew _was dead – speak with words he could hear in his ears and not just his mind.

"Face is never going to listen to you. He's a soldier. You're just a bastard kid trying to pretend he is to make himself feel better."

Murdock put his hands over his ears as he paced the floor of the team room, muddy boots clomping on the floor with every step. But nothing could block out the sound of his brother's voice.

"You can try all you want to pretend you're okay, but he knows you're not."

"No," Murdock growled, spinning to glare at the man who'd sat down on the edge of his bunk. "I'm not pretending. I'm _not _okay. I'm fucking talking to a dead man, and I'm _not okay_!" He was yelling. He stopped.

"You'd better watch how loud you say that," Alan said with a smirk. "They might send you for another psych eval. Maybe they'll even find out that you bribed the guy who did your first one."

Murdock turned away again, resuming his pacing. "Who the fuck cares?"

"You do. They'll send you home."

"Does it matter, at this point? Does it _really _matter?"

Alan laughed. Murdock was expecting it. Calling his bluff neverended well. "That would be such a sad ending to this tragic story of heroism," Alan mocked.

"Don't fucking patronize me. I was never trying to write a tragic story. Not of heroism or anything else."

Another bitter laugh. "No, you were trying to write a fucking romance novel."

Murdock rolled his eyes. Anger got him nowhere, and he knew it. There was only one way to deal with Alan – give him nothing. "Oh, will you come off it?"  
"You know, in the free world, what you're doing is called stalking."

Murdock turned to glare at him. "So what are you saying? That I'm obsessed with him? Because if this is going back to the whole 'gay' thing, I swear to God I will fucking shoot you where you stand."

"Go ahead," Alan shrugged. "Not like it'd hurt me."

"Fuck!" His attempt at holding his peace got him nowhere but even more frustrated. "What do you want from me, Alan?"

"You know what I want?" The tone made it perfectly clear that Alan was baiting him. He took a wary, half step back as the much larger man stood and walked the few paces between them until he was standing so close Murdock had to lean back.

"I want you to take that pistol off your belt," Alan growled, "put it in your fucking mouth, and blow your brains all over the goddamn wall."

Murdock shut his eyes, jaw clenched hard against the vicious attack. It was nothing new. It didn't get any easier to hear it, over and over again.

"But you won't do that. Because you still got this crazy idea that somebody out there gives a flying fuck about you."

"Hannibal does." Murdock could hear his own voice cracking. "And BA. And Cruiser and Face, too; they just don't know it yet."

"Well maybe you should do it and clue them in."

Murdock kept his head turned away, eyes closed against the burning sensation that warned of bitter, angry tears he couldn't stop. "You need to leave now," he whispered. "I'm going to count to three and when I open my eyes, you're going to be gone. One."

"It's not quite that easy, Mark. I'm as much a part of you as those memories that play over and over again every time you shut your eyes."

"Two."

"You'll never really make me go away. I'll always be there when you sleep."

"Three."

Murdock waited. But he waited with the full expectation that he would hear nothing more. When he opened his eyes again, he was not surprised to find that he was alone. Still, his whole body shook as he let out a giant sigh of relief. The emotion hit him so hard, now that he was alone, that he collapsed under the weight of it. Managing just a few steps forward, he fell onto his bunk, buried his face in his arms, and cried himself to sleep.

*X*X*X*

Murdock was screaming. Only half awake, Face groaned loudly as he turned over and buried his head under the pillow. _Jesus, here we go again._

He waited for Cruiser, BA, anyone to tell the pilot to shut up. No one did. As he finally opened his eyes to look around, he saw why. Their bunks were empty. His stomach lurched as he tried to look around the room, and he suddenly remembered how much he'd had to drink the night before. Given the lightheadedness he still felt, it couldn't have been all that long ago that he'd stopped drinking. What time was it?

"Murdock!"

The door opened. Two ARVN soldiers, startled by the cries, stumbled inside. "What happen? What happen?"

Now Face _had_ to respond. He sat up, and found the floor with some difficulty. "He's fine," he answered, still groggy. Dizzy, too. He held the mattress for balance. "He's dreaming. Murdock!"

Startled awake, Murdock sat up so fast, he lost his balance and fell on the floor. The first thing he saw were the unfamiliar Vietnamese – with guns – and he screamed again as he scrambled for cover. Face realized the danger before they did and dove for Murdock's bunk, trapping his hand under the pillow with a firm grip around his wrist. Ignoring the fact that the sudden movement was about to make him sick, he stared Murdock straight in the eye.

"Let go of the gun, Murdock," he said quietly.

Murdock's eyes were wide and full of fear. "But Face… They… I can't… I just…"

Face reached with his other hand and carefully pried the pistol out of his grip. Crisis averted, he looked up at the Vietnamese soldiers. "Don't worry about him. I'll take care of it."

Reluctantly, they turned and left. Face waited until the door closed behind them before he turned his head, grabbed the trash, and heaved the alcohol that was still in his stomach. He probably wouldn't have been able to hold on another ten seconds if they hadn't left. He was glad they had.

Dizzy, sick, and still half asleep, Face put the safety back on the gun and set it on the bed beside him. "Murdock, what the hell is the matter with you?" He didn't realize how angry he was until he heard it in his voice.

"I… I'm sorry." Still sitting on the floor, Murdock buried his face in his hands. "Jesus that… that could've been really bad."

"Yeah, no shit," Face answered bitterly. "This?" He held up the gun with a glare. "No more. You keep it put away while you sleep."

Murdock frowned. "Face, I –"

"That wasn't a suggestion, Murdock!" Face snapped, cutting him off. "The last fucking thing we need is a friendly fire incident because you're having bad dreams!"

Murdock stared at him, jaw set but quivering slightly. Face's eyes narrowed. Drunk, angry, and without the slightest bit of sympathy for the man who'd woke him up, he glared hard. "You gonna fuckin' cry, flyboy?"

Murdock's eyes were brimming with tears. But before they could overflow, he pulled himself to his feet, and grabbed for the pistol in Face's hand. Face didn't give it to him. Murdock's watering eyes blazed. "Let go, Face," he growled. "Or I will lay your drunk ass out on this floor."

Face hesitated for a moment, then released his grip. Murdock jerked the gun away, tucked it into the front of his pants and grabbed his shirt on the way to the door. He didn't look back.

*X*X*X*

The jungle air was thick and hot, so saturated with humidity it felt like breathing water. Fucking miserable. Cruiser's jaw was clenched as he walked through the thick overgrowth, avoiding the vines that hung in his path. They'd only walked a few miles from the base, but they were all dripping sweat and draining water from their canteens at an alarming rate. That was okay. They weren't going very far. This wasn't a recon mission into unknown territory - some area of Cambodia crawling with NVA. It was a demo only a few miles from the camp. The bridges the enemy built to transport their supplies made a fun little playground for Hannibal. It wasn't a strenuous walk, and it wasn't hard. This outing was for the sheer pleasure of pissing the enemy off and bringing all of their hard work crashing into the water below. Hannibal got off on that kind of thing.

In spite of the relatively safe mission, Cruiser's eyes were scanning. He had a cigarette in one hand, CAR-15 in the other, and he knew the position of every man around him despite the fact that he was watching anything and everything but them. The fact that Hannibal was on point was indicative of how little trouble he was actually expecting here; it was not his favorite – or strongest – position to be in. Cruiser followed a few steps behind, glad for the lighter pack on his back while he wasn't taking supplies for a week with him.

When they finally reached the edge of the water, Hannibal stopped. Cruiser's senses jumped on high alert instantly, his cigarette hanging loosely between his lips as his eyes scanned the area, rifle ready. It was old hat by now to jump between 'relaxed' and 'high alert', even if his demeanor didn't change much and his pulse didn't tach out.

There was no movement in the trees. Reassured that their only company was the gorillas, he stepped closer to the steep slope that led down into the river, craning to see further. No bridge in sight. But if they were stopping, they were close. Good. He wanted this over with. He was tired and pissed off and edgy and for none of the traditional warzone reasons. The heat only made it worse. The sooner they could blow up this bridge, the sooner they could get back to the goddamn base and he could find some whore to fuck. And if that didn't work, some jarhead to toy with always did.

Hannibal was checking instruments. Face lit a cigarette. Murdock shifted his rifle as he looked over Hannibal's shoulder at the compass. He checked it against the map, and his memory of the fly-over that had identified this bridge in the first place, then pointed them further down the river, silently.

If Cruiser wasn't thrilled about being out here, he was downright pissy over Murdock's presence here. The man was a pilot, and a liability out here. He wasn't even trained to be on the ground. Sure, Hannibal had pulled him in on IA drills and teamwork exercises - run his ass damn near into the ground on drills of all types, in fact. But the fact remained. This wasn't what the man was supposed to be doing out here. It wasn't what the Army had bought him for, and it wasn't what they had groomed him for.

But of all the missions to bring him on, at least this one was relatively routine. Their chance of encountering any serious trouble was pretty slim. It was even better than some of the patrols Hannibal had given the pilot to cut his teeth on. They knew when, where, and how the enemy used this bridge. There would probably be no one even around to hear it when those charges went off.

That was supposed to make it okay that they were bringing a pilot with them on the ground. Fucking hell…

Murdock was like a goddamn puppy - overexcited, wide-eyed and tense. That in itself wasn't a bad thing. The rest of them were much the same way, they just didn't look like it. But that smile never seemed to leave his face. He was getting such a thrill out of this. It was all a fucking game to him. It made Cruiser wonder if he would even be able to pull the trigger if he had time to think about it. After all, games shouldn't be filled with the blood of war.

In the distance, Cruiser could see the bridge. They were a few degrees off. But hell, at least they'd found it. Those damn trails ran underneath the jungle trees and the only way to find them was to stumble on them - or be lucky enough to find where they crossed the rivers and streams.

Hannibal led them along the edge of the water, eyes still scanning and on alert even if he wasn't exactly expecting trouble. Another hundred yards or so upstream, and he paused with a hand up at the road, stopping them all behind him. Closer to the road - roads were always dangerous - Cruiser had his rifle at port arms again. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Murdock and Hannibal confer again as he studied the road.

The trails in the mud were fresh, but there was no one in sight. They swept the perimeter with practiced efficiency and speed, then regrouped with Hannibal at the edge of the bridge. His smile made it clear that he was really enjoying this outing. He turned to Face, Murdock, and Cruiser. "Cover the road. I don't want any surprises. Then he smiled at BA. "We're gonna blow this baby sky high."

BA smiled back. "Yeah, Hannibal. Let's do it."

Murdock's face split into a huge grin at the tone. Clearly he wasn't the only one who thought this was fun. He clapped a hand over BA's shoulder. "Put a little extra something in it for me would ya, big guy? Something to make blow all pretty like and let the neighbors know there's a new sheriff in town."


	24. Chapter Twenty Two

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

"He's having entirely too much fun with this."

Face's tone made it clear that he didn't disapprove. Cruiser hid his growl of disgust. BA loved blowing shit up, and Hannibal loved anything that made the VC piss their pants. Murdock would say and do damn near anything to join in on the fun. But Cruiser wasn't having fun. And he wasn't as amused as Face seemed to be, either.

"What else is new?" Cruiser mumbled as he crouched with his back against a tree on the opposite side of the road from Face. His tone made a few things clear too. He was in no better mood than when they'd started out this morning. Stay the fuck away.

Face shrugged. "At least he's not training us to death." He paused, eyeing the trees as if debating whether or not it was worth it to climb.

There was nothing to say to that. Cruiser didn't want to be here, but he sure as hell didn't want to be running drills. They all felt the same way, as far as that went. No need to point that out except to better appreciate the current situation.

Fuck that.

Murdock's grin was still in place as he took up a position near Cruiser. "This really makes the blood sing, don't it?" he said brightly.

Cruiser gave a heartfelt sigh. The tone was annoying to say the least. So was the man using it. And the fact that he wouldn't fucking go away. If Cruiser could have indicated anymore by body language alone that he didn't want to be chummy, he would have done it. But he was already doing it all. Tense posture, set jaw line, no direct eye contact, a scowl BA would have approved of. He didn't answer Murdock. Maybe the man would get the fucking hint.

"I can't remember the last time I felt so fucking alive!"

So much for hints.

"Nice choice of wording, Murdock," Face answered him. "You do realize the irony in that, I hope."

** G**ood. Face would play with Murdock. That meant Cruiser didn't have to.

"Irony and I go way back, Face."

Face had apparently decided that up in the tree was a good place for him. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and grabbed a vine hanging down the side of one of the trunks. He tested it before he let it take his weight, using it as a rope with his feet on the trunk until he reached the lowest limbs. That was where he settled, and did a quick look around to see how much the new vantage point offered.

Murdock was beaming. His look was more like a kid in a candy store than a man in the blood-soaked jungle. More importantly, he didn't seem to be taking the hint. Energetic and hyper as ever, he was still waiting for a response from Cruiser.

"No wonder you guys are on indefinite status! This is almost as addictive as the rush of flying!"

Cruiser growled, under his breath. If this flyboy didn't go away, he was going to get his ass kicked. It was just that simple. They'd done a good job of avoiding each other the past few days. But this situation was just begging for an answer. And he was going to get one.

"Hey Cruiser, you been real quite like. What's got you so down on this fine day?"

And there it was. Of course he wouldn't get the hint. That was too much to ask for. "Nothing," Cruiser barked impatiently. One word answers were easier than saying something stupid like, "Because I don't feel like it." Murdock would latch on to "feel" like a fucking parasite.

"Come on, Cruiser. We're your friends. So out with it!"

Cruiser eyed the pilot - and not in any way that would indicate he was grateful for the attention. Finally, he shook his head slightly, lit another cigarette, and looked out at the road. Why was this so hard to understand? Face knew when to leave him the fuck alone. Why didn't Murdock?

"Come on, Cruiser, you and I both know that you'll tell me eventually." He smiled broadly at the heated silence radiating off of Cruiser. Did he think this was a fucking game? "How 'bout you just let me know when I get it right."

Cruiser growled audibly. Of course it was a game. Every-fucking-thing was a game to him.

"Is it the heat? The sappers? Did someone piss on your Wheaties? Did the base run out of your favorite beer? No, Face could always get more. Hmm…"

"Murdock!" Cruiser's patience was wearing very thin. "Just leave me the fuck alone! This isn't some fucking girl scout camp where we have to share feelings and run to the bathroom together."

Face dragged on his cigarette and smiled knowingly. "A for effort, Murdock."

Murdock laughed. Cruiser glared at Face and contemplated his death.

"Don't grade me yet, Face, I'm not done."

Apparently, Murdock had had his ability to take a hint removed at birth.

**"**Cruiser was just expressing his unhappiness with girl scouts and how women always go to the bathroom in pairs." In a tone of mock seriousness, he continued. "Is that all that's bothering you? 'Cause that's easy to fix. There are no girl scouts in southeast Asia and women go in pairs because they need someone to hold their purse."

If Cruiser clenched his jaw any tighter, he might actually break his teeth. "Murdock!"

With a self-satisfied grin, Murdock watched him. "Any other problems can I help you fix?"

Cruiser straightened. There was a definite warning in his posture – and his tone - that even Murdock could not mistaken for anything else. "Leave. Me. Alone."

Face chuckled. "I think he wants to talk about his feelings, Murdock," he instigated.

Cruiser's chest tightened. "Fuck you, Lieutenant!"

Face smiled at Cruiser and two fingers - with a cigarette between them - made an acknowledging, casual salute. With only a brief glare in his direction, Cruiser eyed a tree further away. Maybe Murdock would get the hint and stay here.

"Ya know," Murdock contemplated, "he's been talking about girls, so maybe he needs some help with the ladies. By the way, don't feel bad Cruiser. Lots of men don't know about the purse thing."

That's it. Cruiser had had enough. He got up and walked away. He couldn't go far; he had to stay within shouting distance of the bridge, and he was there for a purpose. He couldn't exactly ignore it.

But Murdock fucking followed.

"Come on, Cruiser, we were just playin' with ya. No need to take your ball and go home." Murdock followed him. "You can tell me, buddy. What's eatin' you?"

Cruiser spun so fast he almost made Murdock fall over backwards in his attempt to keep from running into him. Fucking bullshit. he'd had more than enough. "Murdock, I'm telling you once more, and you had _better_ fucking listen. Leave. Me. Alone. Or I'm gonna knock your fucking head off and I don't give a good goddamn what Hannibal has to say about carrying you out of here."

Face straightened at the tone. At least he knew when Cruiser was serious. "Alright, knock it off, Murdock," Face said. "This isn't the place."

Exactly. This wasn't the place. That was exactly what he'd been trying to say this whole time. Not that it had done him a damn bit of good.

Murdock looked up at Face, apparently confused. "Knock what off, Face?"

"You're supposed to be watching the road, not Cruiser. Lay off."

Cruiser didn't say anything but his eyes never left Murdock, almost daring him to engage him again. Face climbed back down from the tree, probably ready to step between the two of them if Murdock decided to be stupid.

Murdock glanced back and forth. Then finally, with a broad smile, he nodded. "Right, Face."

He turned away, heading back to his original position, and Face cast a glance at Cruiser. "What the fuck, man?" he asked quietly. "You okay?"

Cruiser closed his eyes for a moment. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? What was this? One down one to go? Cruiser turned his glare on Face. "That applies to you, too."

Face raised a brow, challenging but not aggressive. "You know, if you got a real problem, maybe you oughtta talk about it. And if not, you need to suck it up. That's a CAR-15 in your hands, Cruiser. This isn't the place to be pissy and irritable."

Cruiser turned to face him square, eyes narrowed. "Thanks for the In-Country 101 lesson, Lieutenant. Now back off."

There wouldn't have been a fucking problem if Murdock hadn't been instigating. All Cruiser wanted to do was get this job done and over with. Face's eyes narrowed and Cruiser could tell he was debating whether or not to get into it here and now. Risks far outweighed the benefits. And before he had a chance to make a firm decision, Cruiser saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Hannibal and BA.

Thank _God_.

Hannibal was beaming. There was a detonator in his hand. "Any problems, Lieutenant?"

Face shook his head. "No sign of anything."

Hannibal resituated his pack. "Alright then. Let's find someplace where we can watch the fireworks."

Cruiser let Face take up the lead, and kept his distance from all of them as they started back down the narrow path they'd come. Even two men behind Hannibal, he could swear he was hearing him whistling "London Bridge is Falling Down" quietly.

***X*X*X***

Face hesitated at the door to the bunker they were using as a team room - just for the night. They'd be gone first thing in the morning. But they'd definitely earned a good night's sleep. At least, as good as it could ever be in-country. At least they had a place to sleep for the night.

Everyone else had come and gone to get something to eat. Only Cruiser had stayed behind. And Face, but Cruiser probably didn't even know that yet. There wasn't much here, in the middle of fucking nowhere, that was worth Face's attention. The notion of "food" wasn't all that appealing at the moment, and he had other things on his mind. The situation itself gave him opportunity - even obligation? - to talk to Cruiser. There was no place that either of them could go to be alone.

"I've got a bottle of vodka in my pack if you need it," he offered unassumingly.

Cruiser looked up and eyed him warily. Face read the look. He didn't need words and Cruiser didn't give them. He didn't want any favors right now, and he didn't regard this as a problem that vodka could fix.

Face sighed as he stepped inside. It wasn't much of a room - sandbag walls and mesh windows just to keep the bugs out. The bunks were hastily constructed and unimpressive. Uncomfortable too - sleeping bags on wooden slats. None of them were about to complain. It beat sleeping on the ground in Cambodia any day of the week.

Keeping his eyes away, Face sat down and set his rifle on the bed beside him as he reached into his pack, withdrew a small bottle of vodka, and took a swig. "Here."

He wasn't waiting for an answer, or for Cruiser to turn. He tossed it to him, trusting Cruiser's reflexes more than his aim. Cruiser caught the bottle out of habit, and stared at it for a moment, debating.

Face watched him for a moment, then sighed as he lay back on his bunk with a hand over his eyes. He was quiet for several minutes while he listened to Cruiser unpack. When he finally did speak, he didn't take his hand away - make no attempt to look up.

"Just tell me you're not gonna fly off the handle and do something we're all gonna have to answer for and I'll be happy with that."

"Fine." Cruiser didn't even pause for the offhanded answer as he took his shirt off and sat on the bunk, leaving the vodka untouched. "I'm not gonna do anything we all have to answer for."

Face let it lie. He breathed deep as he turned, tucking his arns under his head, eyes closed. He let the silence linger for a long moment before mumbling to himself, "God, I'm so tired."

It wasn't begging conversation. It was barely intelligible for one, and it was a universal statement for another. They were all exhausted. Especially when none of them had been able to sleep at night. Murdock's nightmares, and the screams that went along with them - came every night.

Cruiser didn't answer and Face remained quiet. He was disinclined to pursue a conversation he didn't really want to have in the first place. Cruiser said he had it under control. Face could take his word for it. God knew he was good on the ground. That didn't change just because he had a bad day. He knew the boundaries...

Face's thoughts were becoming less and less coherent as his breathing deepened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cruiser kick his legs up on the bunk and turn his back to Face. It was the last thing he was aware of as he let himself slip away into welcome, much-needed sleep.

"Lieutenant?" The sound of Hannibal's commanding tone - or maybe that was just more Face's perception in his sleep state - jerked Face back to consciousness. He blinked a few times, but didn't move. In fact, he put his head back down before he answered, and tried to slow his heart rate.

"What's up, Colonel?"

"I just got notified by the captain at the base we just left that Murdock pulled a _gun_ on some ARVN soldiers last night?" He sounded as curious as he was concerned. "You know anything about that?"

Face didn't flinch. "Wasn't a big enough deal to make an incident out of it."

"They seemed to think it was."

Face finally opened his eyes and looked at Hannibal, but didn't move. "If you're asking my opinion, it wasn't. If you're asking what happened, go ask Murdock. Hell if I know what goes on in that man's head ninety percent of the time."

Hannibal stared at him for a long moment, then stepped back, out of the doorway and out of sight. Face shut his eyes again.

He was quiet for a long moment, but the sleep wasn't happening again. His mind was racing now. After several long moments, he turned onto his back and put a hand over his eyes again. "Fucking hell..."

Cruiser turned onto his back. "What the fuck, man?" Apparently he was just feigning sleep. "Why're you bullshitting Hannibal?"

Face sighed. "I'm not."

"Bad enough to be reported means it _was _a big deal. And you know it."

Face rubbed the bridge of his nose as he turned his head away. "It wasn't like that makes it sound. Why the hell did they have to report it?" He wasn't sure if an official incident report came with that call, but if it did, they had even bigger problems.

The bunk shifted as Cruiser sat up. "I'm sure there's a thousand reasons to pull a gun on some ARVNs in the middle of the night."

Face didn't look at him, hand still over his eyes. "Believe me, I'm not trying to _justify_ it."

"Right. That's Hannibal's job."

Face turned and glared at Cruiser. He wasn't sure exactly what Cruiser meant by that, but he was sure he didn't like it. "Yeah, actually. It is."

Cruiser glared back, clearly irritated. "Bullshit, Face. This whole goddamn thing is everyone's problem and you know it."

Face held his stare for a moment longer, then sighed deeply as he turned his head back into his hand again. "I didn't fucking ask for this." He paused. "Is it wrong that there's a part of me that just wishes he'd fuckin' snap and get it over with?"

It sure as hell _felt_ wrong. But he was past the point of pretending that part of him didn't exist. "It doesn't matter how you feel about this." Cruiser's voice had a sharp edge to it.

"Yeah," Face answered bitterly. "I know."

"What the hell is going on with him?"

"How should I know?"

"You spend more time with him than anyone else does."

Face frowned at that, but didn't answer.

"If anyone has an idea of how bad this actually is, it's you. And you'd better fucking come clean about it."

"I've got nothing to hide. But Hannibal's made it pretty clear that until he goes off - past the point where we can cover for him - we just have to keep pretending like everything's fine." He turned and locked eyes with Cruiser. "But no. He's _not _fine."

That was not what Cruiser wanted to hear. His eyes narrowed into slits. "That doesn't work for me, Lieutenant."

"I don't think he's going to fall off the deep end and go on a shooting spree. But -"

"And if he _did_, would you fucking cover for him?" Cruiser demanded, his tone harsh.

Face stared at him for a long moment, startled by the question. "There's a difference between being not fine and being dangerous. He's not fine. But he wants to _cuddle_, not to kill."

Cruiser stood and walked to the window. "Out here, that is dangerous, Lieutenant. And I'm not risking him going off the deep end on the ground."

Face laughed, without humor, and turned his head to look at him. "You're not gonna risk it? What are you gonna do, sabotage him to keep him here?"

Cruiser glared. "Sabotage is not my deal."

"Hannibal knows he's messed up; don't think he doesn't. He still puts him out there, on the ground. And he's a fucking _pilot_! He's got no business on the ground."

"He's a fucking liability. It's putting us _all _in danger out there."

Face's eyes closed and he breathed deep. At least they were on the same page. He didn't expect that Cruiser had a solution, but he sure as hell didn't have one either. "Tell it to the colonel, Cruiser. 'Cause right now you're preaching to the choir."

Cruiser was silent for a moment. Then he turned, walked back to his bunk, and grabbed his rifle. Slinging it over his shoulder, he headed for the door.


	25. Chapter Twenty Three

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

"You're awful quiet."

Cruiser glanced up as Hannibal sat down across from him at the hastily-constructed table with a plate of what qualified as food out here. Cruiser gave a quick glance around, almost out of habit. Ten minutes ago, Hannibal had been at the chopper, with Murdock. But Murdock had apparently not followed him here.

"Something on your mind, Sergeant?"

"Actually, yeah." Cruiser's eyes locked on him, hard and serious. "Murdock."

He left it at that, curious to see if Hannibal would fill in the blanks or not. It seemed like Murdock was a hot topic right now, and Hannibal knew more than he did about it anyway. After all, he was the one who'd just been talking to him.

Hannibal nodded, but didn't seem the least bit taken aback by the implied question. "What about Murdock?"

"Everything," Cruiser snapped. Fuck, that wasn't going to help his case.

Hannibal raised a brow. "Well, that narrows it down." His tone was casual, neither threatened nor threatening, interested nor disinclined to talk.

Cruiser's eyes narrowed at him in a distinctly unamused glare. He was probably the hardest person in the world to read. Harder than Face, for sure. At least when it was something important. And this was definitely important. Cruiser wasn't even going to bother trying to pick him apart. He wasn't good at it and frankly, he didn't care. He had to say what he had to say; that was all there was to it. He set his fork down and forgot about the food.

"He's off..." What, his rocker? Not quite. That was the problem. If he just lost it, no one would be able to deny there was something wrong with him. His meds? That was another problem. The shrinks had given him a clean bill of health before they'd shipped him back here. It was bullshit. Cruiser didn't know or care if they'd realized that when they let him reenlist. It didn't change anything now, one way or another. This was their problem now, and they had to deal with it.

"I don't think he's safe on the ground," Cruiser finally concluded. There. A safe statement.

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, as if considering that. "Why? Because he doesn't hold it together in the field? Or because he has nightmares that make you a little uncomfortable?"

_Because he won't leave me the fuck alone!_

This had been really clear when he was ranting to Face. Now it was muddled with emotion. "The nightmares are part of it," he said. He was careful to keep all the anger and irritation out of his voice. He was genuinely concerned about this. And the only way Hannibal was going to hear him was if he spoke calmly and clearly, without anger. "But it's more what the nightmares _mean_. He's not okay. And putting him on the ground with us when we are already tired because we can't make it through a whole night without incident... It's not a matter of if he's going to snap, but of _when _and who he takes down with him."

Hannibal set his fork down. "Cruiser, everything that I've seen of him in the field - hell, training to be in the field - says he keeps it together better out there than he does in here. It gives him an outlet, and a connection."

Cruiser didn't look away from the hard stare. "Right. It's good for him. I get that. But at what cost?"

Hannibal didn't immediately answer, and Cruiser's eyes narrowed slightly. He had no reason to just submit to this. And he wasn't embarrassed or wrong to express his concern here. Hannibal needed to hear it.

"Are you really going to sacrifice this whole team for him?"

"Yes," Hannibal said firmly. "And I'd do the same for you, or any member of this team. Bar none."

Cruiser did look away for a moment now. Of course he would. But he was missing the entire point. It wasn't _necessary_. The man was a pilot. Let him be a pilot. He was damn good at it. Why complicate that?

"Hannibal…" Damn it, Face was the one that was good with words. Why wasn't he having this conversation? "Seriously, we do enough shit that risks our lives out there. And now, on top of thinking about Charlie, and watching everyone's back, I'm thinking about Murdock and what he's going to do, or if he's going to snap, and if he does, who is he going to take with him? And you're fine with that?"

Hannibal shook his head. "I'm not saying you're right about sacrificing the team. You asked me if I _would_, and yes. But that's not what's happening here."

"Well, what the hell is happening here?" Cruiser snapped. The hell with calm and collected. He wasn't being heard anyways.

"I wasn't saying it's good for him at the expense of the team. It's good for him _and_ the team. Unless you know something I don't. Something happen out there today that I need to know about?"

Cruiser dropped his eyes and shook his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary." Damn it, he didn't like talking to Hannibal _about _Murdock. It seemed childish and wrong. But really, it was _Hannibal's _problem. He was the one insisting there was nothing to be concerned about here.

Cruiser picked up his fork again in the silence that followed and started eating a bite here and there. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened today. What was he supposed to say to make Hannibal understand that that didn't make it okay?

"Actually, that's my point." The fork clattered on the table as he dropped it again. "I'm fucking on edge 'cause I can't sleep through the night, then we go out there, and everyone _except _him can figure out to leave me the fuck alone to do my job. He's on my case wanting to know what's wrong and talk about feelings like chummy school girls until I want to knock his head off."

Hannibal chuckled. Cruiser's eyes narrowed into slits. There was nothing about this that he found amusing.

"What do you want me to do, Cruiser?" Hannibal was smiling, but the question seemed genuine. "You want me to talk to him? Tell him to leave you alone? You two are grown adults, you know. I'm surprised that either one of you would want me to get involved."

Cruiser blinked. What the hell? Hannibal was blowing him off? "You really think I would be here talking to you if it was as simple as he won't leave me alone?"

"No," Hannibal answered, curt but still polite. "But I'm still not sure what you're asking me to do. Do you want me to segregate him into another area so that you don't have to deal with him? Are you asking me to ground him? Throw him to a court martial for lying on his psych eval? Give me a break, Cruiser. I know you know me better than that so why are we having this conversation?"

Cruiser sighed, exasperated. This wasn't that hard to figure out. "Because he's not safe out there! Or he won't be, or the rest of us won't be. And I don't know which is coming first." He paused for a moment as cold determination set in. "I'm not gonna stick around to find out which comes first. I'm asking you to figure this out. 'Cause I gotta tell you, the way it stands right now, it's him or the rest of us. And there's always a chance that it'll be all of us."

"Is that a threat or a statement of opinion, Cruiser?" Hannibal asked flatly. "Just so we're clear."

"It's a fact. And you know it as well as I do."

"Well." Hannibal smiled tightly, his voice dripping with polite sarcasm as he stood. "When your prediction _becomes _a fact, and Murdock goes on a killing spree and decides to murder all of us in our sleep, then you can say, 'I told you so.' But until that point, I am in command here and both you and Murdock follow my orders. If you don't like it, you've served more than enough time here to revoke your indefinite status and go home."

He turned away without another word, and Cruiser slammed his fork back down on the table. "This is _not _a fucking joke!"

If he had been anyone else, he would have knocked the guy's head off. He was absolutely fuming with anger. This was beyond comprehension. Hannibal was blowing him off for some fucking flyboy special project of his? He shook his head and stood up so quickly that the chair fell over behind him as Hannibal walked away.

"Your pet project causes anymore problems, I'll fix it myself!"

Hannibal stopped, and turned slowly, eyes locked hard on Cruiser's. The gazes of every soldier in the room had been drawn to the two men. And Cruiser didn't give a damn. Not in the least.

"You're _all _my pet projects, Sergeant," Hannibal said coldly. "And don't you forget it. You got a problem with it, you can go be on someone else's team."

Cruiser stepped around the table and towards Hannibal, radiating aggression, back ramrod straight, hands balled up in fists, jaw set. "Don't for a minute think I won't, Colonel," he growled.

"I respect your opinion, Cruiser," Hannibal said. His eyes and tone were both ice cold. "A lot. But I'm not going to ground Murdock, or force him to go home, or tell him he can't be part of the team, or really do _anything _different than what I'm already doing in keeping an eye on him. You oughtta know me well enough to know that before we ever started this conversation. Which makes whole thing a venting exercise for you. And I'm fine with that until you go too far."

Cruiser growled, fists tightening. "If I wanted someone to vent to, it sure as hell wouldn't be you. I'm not here to get your approval, your sympathy, or your understanding. I'm here to let you know that I have no intention of going home in a bag because of your ego."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed into slits. His shoulders were back, but he wasn't postulating. He didn't have to. The look on his face said more than enough. He was in charge here. Cruiser respected that. But they were both aware of the fact that he was exercising every ounce of control he had not to swing.

"I'll be more than happy to sign your papers, Sergeant, if that's what you want. Send you anywhere you want to go - including back home. But you oughtta know me better than to think that I'd sacrifice Murdock out of fear for your threat that you're going to walk away."

"I'm well aware that I'm replaceable, but I'm _not _the only one who sees this problem."

"I don't give a good god damn if you like him or not, if you _trust _him or not."

"He doesn't belong on the ground!"

"When he starts dropping with us on recon, then we'll have to talk about that. But for right now, I don't see how you expect this situation to change. And you haven't offered me any solution that doesn't involve me turning my back on a member of this team - your team - who needs to be a part of that team."

Cruiser was toe to toe with Hannibal. "I'm asking you to prove me wrong."

"About what? That he's happy and healthy and fine? Because you're right, he's not. But my solution to that problem is apparently very different than yours."

"Well your solution better damn well work. Because I see it making things worse."

"You're either going to trust me in that or you're going to go your own way. Choose your path, Cruiser. It's the same now as it's always been."

"Your solution allowed him to pull a gun on some concerned ARVNs in the middle of the night. What the fuck else has he done? And when does it become too much?"

"When I say," Hannibal answered authoritatively.

"Well, I say I'm close to being done with it. Because I gotta tell you, you're looking a little blind to me right now, and _that _scares the hell out of me."

Hannibal nodded. His gaze didn't waver. "Noted, Sergeant."

He left it at that. Cruiser stood stock still, staring him down. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. That didn't offer any reassurance. That didn't fix a goddamn thing. He might as well have not even said anything in the first place if this was all it was going to amount to.

Hannibal watched him for a long moment, eyes locked, then stepped back, turned, and calmly walked away without another word. Cruiser watched him go, fists tight at his sides. Any other man, and he would have ended it with a nice punch to the jaw. Hannibal was the one man he wouldn't swing on. But he was also the one man that he'd always assumed would listen to a legitimate concern.

What the fuck was wrong with him?


	26. Chapter Twenty Four

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

What had started out as a reinforced recon patrol - with Hannibal's team to back up another squad led by Captain O'Reilly - had turned into a bloodbath. They'd been ambushed, and they'd walked right into it. O'Reilly and most of his team were dead. Face had been shot through the leg and BA had caught shrapnel in his back. Snap had a concussion and Murdock was down one chopper thanks to a well-aimed RPG. Cruiser's arm was mangled - bloody and broken. The only consolation Hannibal had was the fact that in the end, everyone on his team was still alive.

By the time they were lifted back to the base, their most serious injury and biggest concern was Snap, who was unconscious, so there wasn't a whole hell of a lot they could do for him at the moment, and Cruiser, who was distinctly not unconscious. He'd caught a round in his forearm that had hit the bone and, Hannibal suspected, shattered it. He hadn't really had a chance to look at it yet, but that was what rounds from an AK-47 tended to do when they hit. It had been fired at considerable distance – proof of which was the fact that his arm was still attached – but there was no telling how bad the damage was inside until he let someone look at it.

Unfortunately, the medics had a different plan for how to go about doing that than Cruiser did.

"I don't want the fucking morphine, do you understand me!" Livid, bleeding, and cursing every few words at the medics who were taking too long in his professional opinion, Cruiser was drugged enough from adrenaline alone. "Get this fucking bullet out of my fucking arm before I dig it out myself and shove it down your fucking throat!"

"Easy, Cruiser," Hannibal said calmly.

"Fuck off!" That anger was liable to turn on anyone, without discrimination.

They were readying morphine. Cruiser was out of his chair the moment he saw it. "Fucking son of a -" It only took a half step for him to register the excruciating pain, and he turned his head away and to the side. "Ow! God damn mother fucking -"

"I don't think he wants the morphine, guys," Hannibal said calmly.

The man with the syringe stared for a moment as Cruiser was guided back into the chair. Then he took a step towards Hannibal, lowering his voice. "Sir, I can't even tell how badly broken his arm is."

"Well, if he needs surgery, we'll re-evaluate." Hannibal shrugged. "Right now, he wants the bullet out. So get it out. He can take the pain."

The man laughed nervously. "Sir, with as pissed off as he is, I am _not _going to try and dig a bullet out of his arm without some morphine. It's not safe. For any of us."

"Fine," Hannibal said flatly. "Then let me do it."

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment before the man handed over the small glass bottle with the syringe still sticking out of it. "Suit yourself, Colonel."

"Cruiser?"

Hannibal set the bottle on the counter before looking at him. The string of angry cursing paused for just a moment as Cruiser looked up.

Hannibal grabbed the tools he needed off of the top of the cabinet. "Give me your arm."

Cruiser glared at him, seething with vicious anger. But through the pain, there must have been some form of logic that made him still capable of reason. He took a few deep breaths, and calmed.

"If it's shattered, you're taking the morphine and going for surgery."

"It's not," Cruiser growled. "I can feel it."

"Fine. I'm just telling you."

Teeth gritted and eyes blazing, he lay his arm carefully on the table. Hannibal ushered the nurse out of the way as he grabbed the sterile gauze she'd already prepared with peroxide.

Cruiser didn't move his arm as Hannibal dug into it. Snarling at the pain, his head turned away, entire body tense, Cruiser nevertheless didn't flinch. After several moments, Hannibal retrieved the slug, and pressed the bandage over the top of the bleeding wound.

"Hold this," Hannibal ordered flatly.

Cruiser didn't really need to be told. His hand pressed down on the bandage, over the wound. He was hyperventilating from the pain, but he didn't make a sound other than the ragged breaths as the nurse readied suture thread. Hannibal cleaned the wound - at that, Cruiser couldn't withhold the cry of pain - and Cruiser tended to the blood himself as Hannibal sewed it closed.

With that task finished, Hannibal set his fingers firmly on either side of Cruiser's forearm and moved down slowly, tracing the bone. Cruiser nearly jumped out of his seat as Hannibal approached the wound. "Jesus fucking -"

"You're going to need a doctor to set it," Hannibal said flatly, taking his hands away. "I'm not doing that."

Cruiser growled, but didn't argue.

"Nurse, will you let them know, when they have a chance?"

She nodded, and was gone almost instantly. Hannibal watched her go, then cleaned up the blood and finally removed his gloves, tossing them in the trash. "How's the pain?"

"Fuck kinda question is that?" Cruiser demanded angrily.

Hannibal cast him a sideways glance. "Just asking."

Every few seconds, Cruiser moved his fingers, just to remind himself that he could. Every time, he was reminded with a pain that made him wince that yes, everything was still attached.

"Morphine is still here."

"Will you shut up about the fucking morphine?"

"Why don't you want it?"

"Because I don't." Cruiser moved his fingers again and clamped his jaw shut as the pain reminded him they were still there. Glaring at his arm, he waited for the agony to subside again. "You don't need to be here."

"I'll stay anyways. In case you change your mind."

It was a pointless thing to say. Hannibal knew that. He wasn't stupid. But he had to say it. Just like he had to stay. He made himself comfortable, leaning back on the wall and closing his eyes. Cruiser glared at him.

"Sure do wish you'd go hover around someone else."

Hannibal smiled faintly, eyes still closed and head back on the wall. "You get really irritable when you're injured, you know that?"

Cruiser growled audibly. Hannibal's smile grew.

"You can take your commentary on my disposition to a couch session with that fucking head shrinker you're so fond of."

"Which one?" Hannibal asked casually, unoffended.

There was no patience in Cruiser's answering expression and very little humor, if any at all. "How about the one flyboy sees?"

The blatant accusation, an invitation to an argument, went unanswered. "As far as I know, he's not supposed to be under any psychiatric care right now."

"Shocking." He took another deep breath and looked at his arm, then brought his left hand up and prodded at it a bit, gritting his teeth as he tried to figure out how badly broken it was.

"You keep messing with that, you're going to make it worse."

"Do I look like I need a girl scout leader to hold my hand?"

"You should take the morphine, Cruiser."

"Fuck you! You know what?" Cruiser stood, grabbing his arm and cradling it to his chest. The pain was excruciating, but he didn't cry out. "You fucking send us out there with a lunatic at the controls and you're surprised when it doesn't go well? What the fuck are you thinking?"

Hannibal raised a brow. "Murdock getting shot down has absolutely nothing to do with why your arm is broken." His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke with an edge, just short of a command. "Sit down, Sergeant."

Cruiser pushed himself up as fully as he could, given the pain. "Or what?"

Hannibal raised a brow. "Or you're posing a legitimate threat to your own well-being and as your commanding officer I will take any steps necessary to ensure your safety."

He left the threat open for interpretation. Cruiser glared daggers in reply. "Safety and well being my ass. You fucked that notion upside down already."

"Sit _down_, Sergeant," Hannibal ordered in a full command.

Cruiser clamped his jaw shut, a war waging on inside of his head. Debating non-compliance. But his arm was injured; there was no getting away from that fact. Finally, he threw a glare back at Hannibal and forced himself to sit back down, muttering under his breath.

"Fucking unbelievable."

"If you've got something to say, you're free to say it."

"I've got a hell of a lot of things to day, but you don't wanna hear any of them."

"You know where I stand as far as Murdock goes. I've seen absolutely nothing to change that position. In fact, that he was able to pull himself and Snap out of that downed chopper and be a _help_ to us when we were on the ground says a hell of a lot more than the fact that you're pissed off right now, and in pain."

"God damn it." He hissed as moved his arm a bit, trying to get it to a position that was even slightly comfortable again. "You're so full of shit, I don't even know what to believe with you anymore and all your self-righteous golden boy bullshit mission you're dragging all of us in on."

"To be honest, Sergeant, I'm not sure what to think of you either." He kept his voice controlled. "Where the hell is all this even coming from? Because I don't give a good god damn who you've got personality conflicts with."

Cruiser kicked his foot out, irritated and once again ready to step up. Hannibal was pushing. And Cruiser was in just enough pain to lose his grip on rationale.

"You've always been good on the ground, good on this team. Now all of a sudden you're all bent out of shape because - what? You're thinking I'm gonna sacrifice my team on a whim? For the hell of it? I haven't given you any reason to think that. And this irrational... temper tantrum is not like you."

Cruiser was back on his feet. "You shitting me? What do you need coke-bottle glasses to see that he's not right in the fucking head? Or are the nightmares and screaming and middle of the night throw-downs against his own team not enough?"

"Middle of the night throw -" Hannibal cut off, shaking his head in disbelief. "Cruiser, that is _not_ what happened and you know it."

Cruiser snarled, jaw clenched, just daring Hannibal to blow him off a second time. "How long have I been on the ground with you, huh?" Cruiser demanded. "And how many times have I asked you to solve my problems? Fucking personality conflict temper tantrum... You think I'm a fucking flower girl? How fucking needy do you think I am that I wouldn't deal with that shit on my own?"

Hannibal stared him straight in the eye. "And _that_, Cruiser, is what's got me so goddamn confused about this."

"I don't see what's so fucking confusing."

"Murdock is scarred. Damaged. I'm not arguing that. What I _am_ arguing is your proposition that makes him incapable of doing his job. Because I haven't seen that. I have seen him _excel _in every new responsibility I put on his shoulders. So what exactly are you expecting me to say?"

"At what cost, huh?" Cruiser took a deep breath, his arm was fucking killing him from that last move. "Look, he's a good pilot, I'll give you that. But his fucking 'damage' isn't just affecting him."

He forced some of the anger back down and took a deep breath, trying to be calm and rational. "I told you," he said flatly. "This shit is fucking throwing me. And that means I'm not the only one. I'm serious, Colonel. Don't blow it off."

It wasn't meant as a threat or a challenge. In fact, it was as close to a request as Cruiser would ever get. Hannibal shook his head. "I'm not blowing you off. But you're gonna have to do better than 'his damage is affecting me' if you want me to get involved. Because that's _your _problem, Cruiser. Not his."

"God damn it, you're wrong!" Just like that, the control was gone. "I'm not… You know what? Fuck you."

He took a step towards the exit. But Hannibal stepped into his path. "Sit down, Sergeant." He couldn't leave here until that arm was set. After that, Hannibal didn't much care where he went to cool off.

Cruiser glared daggers at him. "Or what?" he challenged. "We've been through this. I'm done playing ring around the rosie with you."

He shoved past Hannibal, ignoring the sharp stab of pain. But he couldn't ignore it when Hannibal grabbed his upper arm, grating bone on bone in his forearm with the rough motion as he pushed him back towards the chair. It was a good thing Cruiser hadn't made it far from the chair because he would've fallen down as he screamed in pain through grated teeth.

Hannibal was calling the medic. Cruiser was struggling to breathe, to push the pain back down to a manageable place. He couldn't even see straight for the pain.

"You're going to get some morphine now, Cruiser," Hannibal said softly. "I think the pain is making you a bit unstable."

Cruiser smiled wickedly, in spite of the pain that was making him almost delirious, as he watched Hannibal ready a syringe. "You better have a fucking plan for that you limey fuck." He laughed. It was anything but humorous.

Hannibal had a plan. An exchange of glances and a nod, and the two medics who'd answered Hannibal's call had their hands on Cruiser. His eyes went wide, and he fought the moment the hands were anywhere near him for all he was worth. He didn't even feel the needle against the pain in his arm. It was overwhelming and blinding and every move, every touch caused it to rip through him. Pinned down and disoriented by the pain and adrenaline alone, he laughed until he felt the fog slowly setting in. Cold, hollow eyes finally found Hannibal as the morphine flowed in his veins.

"I'm gonna kill you for this," he slurred, his voice cold and distant.

Hannibal sighed. "Just rest, Cruiser."

He couldn't keep his eyes open. He didn't have a choice. As he slipped away into unconsciousness, the last thing he heard was the soft sound of Hannibal's voice.

"God knows you deserve a break."

*X*X*X*

The nurse was just finishing with the last of the stitches on Face's leg when Murdock showed up at the edge of the curtain. The bullet would've done a lot more damage if it had been a little further to the left. None at all if it had been a half inch to the right. Just more than a graze, just less than a wound, it had made a path clean through. It would be sore, and there was no running in his immediate future. But he needed a few days off anyways. He wasn't complaining. It was a small price to pay.

"What do you think, nurse?" Murdock asked. "Will he ever dance the Tango again?"

She smiled, and patted Face's leg, below the injury. "He should be just fine in a few days."  
Face smiled at her. She was a reminder of the beautiful things that still existed in the world, somewhere. He offered a quiet, "Thank you," then watched her leave without another word. On to the next bloody injury. Face sighed as he swung his legs carefully over the side of the table, pointing to the nearby chair.

"Hand me my pants, will you?"

Murdock grabbed the rumpled fatigues, which were now missing a leg. "You want me to go grab you another pair?"

Face glanced at them, then down at the bandage on his thigh, distracted by it for a moment. It really was a large bandage for what felt like a minor wound. "No, I'm only going as far as the hootch."

"Suit yourself."

Face took the pants and carefully bent to slip them over his feet. "How's Snap?"

"He'll be up and doing everything by the book and in triplicate in no time. He's got a concussion, but they were able to wake him up. So no coma. He should be fine in a couple days."

Face nodded as he spent a few moments struggling with his pants before he fell back on the cot, exhausted. He was lightheaded. He'd lost a lot of blood. As soon as he got back to the team room, he was going to drink a gallon of water and sleep for a week.

"Need a hand with your boots?"

Face eyed him for a moment, distrustful. But for once, Murdock didn't seem to have all the energy of an excited puppy. He seemed almost normal. Maybe Hannibal was right. A little bit of adrenaline mellowed him right the fuck out. "Sure," he answered cautiously.

Grabbing the less than clean combat boots in one hand, Murdock took the small wooden chair nearby and pulled it next to the bed. Dropping down into the chair, Murdock set one boot on the ground and held open the other one. Carefully he pulled the boot on with minimum jostling of his injured leg, then slowly and carefully tied the laces.

"Hannibal went with Cruiser, 'cause it's a good bet he needed morphine. But other than the bullet in his arm and a serious case of pissed off, he should be fine, too."

"O'Reilly isn't." Face watched Murdock carefully, as he slowed just briefly. "His entire fucking team got wiped out. And there's still two bodies out there we haven't recovered."

Murdock's smile was still in place as he looked up, but there was sadness in his eyes as he set Face's foot back down and reached for his cigarettes. "Yeah, that's true." He stared at his smokes. "But what we did out there today… It _matters_."

There was an odd, almost amazed tone to his voice. Face sighed as he looked away. Looking back, it would have been better if they hadn't gone at all. But there'd been no way to know that. And none of them would've been willing to roll that dice.

Murdock let the silence linger for a few moments, then lit his cigarette. His full smile returned as he shoved the pack into his pocket again. "They dug the shrapnel outta BA's back, too. He's already back in the team room, probably fast asleep and dreaming happy little BA dreams."

Face smirked. "Yeah, gotta love that morphine."

He reached for his own cigarettes, lit one unceremoniously, and tipped his head back as he blew the smoke into the air. He let the silence linger for a long moment. Thank God for silence; Murdock really was a _hell _of a lot easier to get along with when he wasn't bouncing around the room looking for someone to annoy the hell out of.

Finally, he glanced back down, eyeing the pilot curiously. "You did okay out there." The approval was hesitant. The last thing he wanted was for Murdock to get the idea they were best buddies or something. But he really _had _held it together exceptionally well. Especially for a pilot.

Murdock stared at him for a moment, then forced a tight smile as he mumbled, "Thanks."

Face didn't answer.

Murdock took a deep drag , keeping his head down he looked up at Face, blowing out a stream of smoke before he spoke again. "You know, it's the damndest thing. When I'm flying, or doing something like we did today, I feel…" He licked his lips, trying to find the word, and shook his head when he couldn't find it.

"Alive?" Face offered quietly.

Murdock studied him for a moment, and the slight smile turned more genuine. "It means something. What this team does. And being a part of that somehow just makes everything else kinda fade into the background."

Face watched him carefully, and finally lowered his eyes as he took another slow, deep drag. "Just don't let it go to your head, flyboy," he warned, his voice soft. "It could all be over with one bullet.


	27. Chapter Twenty Five

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

The cool water of the Bong Son River felt good on Face's overheated skin. It helped to take his mind off of the fact that they'd just pulled a bunch of dead soldiers out of the combat zone and carried them back to base. After all, that was why they were here anyways – washing the blood and body fluids out of the back of the chopper. The air mattresses Face had found in the supplies were a pleasant distraction from the very unpleasant chore.

"She was gorgeous, though." Face sighed, lying across the raft in the chest-deep water. "Too bad she figured out I was only fifteen."

Murdock chuckled. "At fifteen you probably looked about twelve. No offense."

Face smirked, but didn't answer, letting his mind wander over pleasant memories of much more pleasant times. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a chopper somewhere overhead, and he looked up. Another Huey come to rinse out their cargo bay? Floating in the middle of a river about as wide as a football field, he shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked up. The chopper was lowering almost directly over top of them.

"What the hell do these assholes think they're doing?" Murdock asked.

"Hovering." Face shrugged, unconcerned. Until he realized that the hurricane force winds from the rotors were coming straight toward them.

Murdock realized it at about the same time. "Shit! Get to the sandbar!"

There was no time. Clinging to the rafts for dear life, they were swept a good 150 yards downstream before the chopper finally stopped following them and went back to land about fifty feet from Murdock's chopper.

It was one hell of a prank. Face was not amused. As they paddled and walked against the current, all the way back to where they had started, Face made sure that the crew from the intruding chopper knew about it. They were laughing as Face and Murdock swam past. The pilot gestured his apology with a shrug as they passed the bird, as if to say that they hadn't seen them. Yeah, right. Drawing from an extensive vocabulary of bar-brawl insults, he rattled off every name he could think of on their way back to their bird.

Once there, he realized how absolutely ludicrous the whole thing was. With a laugh, he tucked himself out of sight of the other chopper and glanced first at BA, then at Snap. "Can you believe those guys!" He laughed again as he slipped his pants back on. "I mean, what the hell was that?"

"What happened?" BA demanded.

Dressed faster than Face, Murdock strapped himself into the left pilot's seat.

"Did you not see that? They pushed us halfway down the river!"

BA was frowning as he looked up from where he was attempting to secure the tool box. That they'd been pushed down the river was obvious; he'd seen that part. What he didn't understand was why. "D'you know them?"

Face shook his head as the chopper cranked. Snap's eyes widened as he dove for his seat, surprised. "Clear behind us?" Murdock called back.

Face stuck his head out the side of the chopper. "Clear on right!"

BA dove for the other side, leaving the large box unsecured. Murdock already had the chopper light on its skids, without waiting for BA's response. "All clear!"

Face shook his head, ran his hands through his wet hair, and grabbed his shirt off the cargo bay floor. He slipped it on, but left it unbuttoned. Having the opportunity to harmlessly vent some of the latent frustration on a well-deserving target was almost as much of a relief as the swim itself had been. He was in a remarkably good mood – especially for having just done a casualty extraction. They'd go back to the base, he'd be able to report back to Jeffries that his bird _and _the men under his temporary command were all home safe and with lightened spirits, and after a few drinks it will have been a pretty good day.

Murdock gestured over his shoulder and Face picked up the headset lying beside him just as the pilot keyed the mic. "Hey, Face! Watch this!"

Face didn't have a chance to respond before the chopper suddenly lurched. Face immediately and instinctively reached for something to grab onto. It took him a moment to realize that it was exactly what Murdock had been intending to do, although Snap certainly seemed surprised.

Suddenly, the whole back of the chopper shook as if someone had grabbed it and thrown it back down. The screeching sound of warping metal was deafening and suddenly, they were spinning. The unsecured toolbox flew through the cargo area and between the two pilots, shattering the windshield and destroying the instrument panel along the way. His brain caught up with what was happening as he realized something was terribly wrong. But there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it but hold on.

Face gripped the side of the doorway so hard, his fingers ached. It was like an amusement park ride, spinning rapidly in the large cage. Choking back the panic, he closed his eyes and breathed slow, deep. Panicking would accomplish nothing. Murdock would either regain control of the chopper or he wouldn't.

The Huey tilted left. The rotors hit the water's surface like a cement wall and they fell hard. Face lost his grip. He was thrown clear of the chopper, and barely managed a gasp before he hit the water's surface. The deafening sound of the crash was lost to the water as he went under, and he pulled himself back up as quickly as possible, searching for footing on the shifting sand, in water a little deeper than his waist.

He looked back at the chopper, breathing hard. It was mangled – the rear and top rotors were warped and the gear box was missing off the back of it. Face stared in horror as Snap stumbled out of the right side, fell into the water, and scrambled over to him. Still stunned and not yet able to think clearly, he moved when Snap pushed him, away from the wreckage.

He hadn't gone far when he heard Murdock's voice. "Hey Faceman!" Face looked back, eyes still wide. "Swim upstream, jackass! Not downstream!"

Face stared. It took a moment for the words to compute. Murdock and BA were standing on the shore, safe. Face and Snap were standing in waist deep water and JP4, leaking from the Huey's damaged fuel tank. They went wide, around the worst of the spill and to the bank of the river. Face was slowly beginning to process what had just happened.

"What was it I was supposed to watch, Murdock?" Face called as he came within reasonable talking distance.

"Yeah, how'd you like that takeoff?"

Face laughed, nearing hysterics as it suddenly dawned on him that he was going to find a way to tell Captain Jeffries about this – to say nothing of Hannibal. "Jesus, Murdock, how are we supposed to explain this? You know what it took to get them to let us off that base for a simple supply run? And now you just crashed their chopper in the river!"

"We…! I…!" Snap had no words as he stumbled to shore. "I could…! I could lose my wings for…! But I didn't…!"

"Nah, don't worry 'bout it, kid," Murdock assured him with a wave. "I'll take care of it."

Face's eyes widened. "You'll take care of it?" Like hell Murdock would take care of it. Murdock hadn't even been able to get the chopper in the first place. It had taken Face some pleading, some promises, and a good deal of bargaining to get them clearance to fly. "I'm the one who stuck my neck out to get us this chopper!"

"Alright, so you'll take care of it," Murdock shrugged.

Face stared at him, incredulously. Was he kidding? Murdock looked like a kid at a carnival, not a care in the world. Did he have no idea what kind of trouble they were going to get into? Before Face had a chance to respond, Murdock raised his hands to his mouth again and shouted at the top of his lungs at the other chopper. "Hey you! Assholes downriver!"

Face had almost forgotten about the other chopper. As he turned, he saw the entire crew staring, gaping at them. "That's JP4 you're standing in, you idiots! Anybody got a match?"

Face was stunned by the joking, carefree tone of Murdock's voice. He really had no idea what he'd just done. "Look at those fools." Murdock grinned at Snap, who was also staring at him as if he'd grown a second head. "Can you believe they're just sitting there?"

"You're the fool, Murdock!" BA grabbed his shoulder, jerking him back a little. "You coulda killed us all!"

"But I didn't," Murdock reminded with a wide grin. He pulled away and BA let him go, not entirely sure what else to do with him. Murdock immediately turned back to the other chopper crew, jumping at the opportunity to further antagonize them. "Hey, stupid! I think I left the battery switch on!"

Face raised a hand to his cheek, jaw still dropped as he looked again at the mangled chopper. That thing would probably never fly again. How in the hell was he supposed to explain that? What was he even supposed to _say_? "Geez, Murdock…"

It was going to test every fraction of his smooth-talking abilities to get them out of this one.

*X*X*X*

"What's on your mind, kid?"

The sound of Hannibal's voice made Face's eyes shift, but he didn't turn his head. "Nothing worth discussing." As if to punctuate his words, he threw back another gulp of Jack Daniels, and set the glass back on the bar top to refill it. "You hear from Westman yet?" Until they got word, they were stuck in the camp near the Bong Son River. Face wasn't sure how much longer they'd be able to stay here before the camp commander filed a formal complaint. Actually, given that Murdock had just crashed one of the camp's choppers into the river during a "miscalculated" prank, that complaint had probably already been filed earlier in the day. Jeffries had been pissed, to put it mildly.

"We're go for tomorrow morning."

Face gave a sigh of relief. "It's about damn time." He stared at the shot glass as he swirled the amber liquor, careful not to let it spill over the sides.

"But it's off the books."

Face gave a cynical snort of laughter. "What isn't off the books?"

Hannibal grabbed the bottle and walked around the bar to get a glass, then returned and filled it. "I saw Cruiser leave earlier," Hannibal said quietly. "How's his arm?"

"He got shot, Hannibal," Face reminded, dryly. "He's not goin' on the ground again anytime soon."

"Figured you'd be going with him into town."

Face sighed. "Cruiser and I are not joined at the hip."

"Not tonight…"

"Look." Face turned and stared Hannibal squarely in the eye. "Why don't you just say what you're trying to say?" He had enough to think about without throwing Cruiser into the mix.

"What happened today?" Hannibal asked pointedly, looking away.

"I didn't feel like going with Cruiser to the whorehouse. Is that a problem?"

Hannibal took a sip of whiskey. "Alright, let me rephrase." He paused for a moment as he set the glass down and turned once again to Face. "What happened at the Bong Son River today?"

Face threw back his drink and sat up with an audible sigh. "I don't know much about it, Hannibal."

"Murdock crashed a helicopter into the river," Hannibal reminded, his tone incredulous. "You didn't hear about that? Because I heard you were there."

"You're going to have to ask him about it."

"I'm asking you," Hannibal shot. Face looked over at him, waiting for the rest. "Because you were the one who conned your way into getting that chopper off this base and into the air when your orders were to stay put."

"My orders were to stay out of trouble," Face corrected.

A flicker of emotion – something akin to anger – crossed Hannibal's eyes. "Crashing a helicopter into a river qualifies as trouble. What the hell were you doing out there anyways? Going for a swim?"

"Actually, we were washing blood out of the cargo bay," Face glared back.

Hannibal was silenced. But the look in his eyes made it clear that he was still expecting an explanation for the day's events. Face sighed deeply, and poured another shot. "Look, I don't know what went wrong, okay? I talked to Snap and he's writing up some kind of explanation."

"Some kind of explanation? Or what actually happened?"

"I told you. I don't know what happened."

"Is he safe to fly or not?"

Face shut his eyes. He'd known the question was coming. He hated hearing it. "You're asking me to make that call?"

"I can ask Snap…"

"At this point, Snap is going to say whatever he has to say not to lose his wings. I don't think he cares too much about his position on this team, either."

"And yet you're trusting him to write that report."

"What else am I supposed to do?" Face challenged, anger creeping into his voice. "I can't write it up. I don't know a damn thing about helicopters!"

"Are you going to answer my question or not?"

Face turned his head away and remained silent.

With a sigh, Hannibal reached into his pocket for a cigar and paused to light it. After another sip of whiskey, he finally spoke again. "I don't get it, Face. A few weeks ago, you and Cruiser were both looking for any excuse you could find to get him off the team."

"I never said that."

"It was certainly the impression I got."

"I said he drives me nuts. I didn't say I wanted him to lose his wings, get dishonorably discharged."

"You know this is gonna come down on you, right?"

Face stared down at the liquor on the bar in front of him, the glass resting between his fingers.

"I flew eight thousand miles to bring him back, you know," Hannibal reminded. "And I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But if he's going to get us killed out there, we need to know now."

Face half-laughed at that. "Cruiser's been saying that for weeks."

"And I told him that as soon as I saw something that confirmed it, I'd take note." He paused briefly. "But I wasn't there. You were. So I'm asking you."

Still, Face said nothing. Hannibal finished the rest of his drink and left the glass on the bar as he stood up. "I'm leaving it to you, Lieutenant. You want to change your mind on that report, I'll back you up. I trust your judgment."

Without another word, Hannibal turned, clapping Face on the shoulder. "Why?" Face asked, not turning to look at him. "Why now?"

Hannibal was quiet for a moment. "Because he's a pilot. And if he can't do a pilot's job safely, I can't use him."

Face turned and glared at him. "All this time, you're going to argue with us that he's not a threat. Now all of a sudden you want _me _to make the call that he is? Is this just some fucked up effort to keep it off of your conscience when he goes home and blows his fucking brains out?"

"No," Hannibal answered simply.

Face's eyes narrowed into slits. "That's a fucking lie."

Hannibal paused for a moment, then stepped closer. "It wouldn't be the first time I've put the whole team – including myself – on the line for one man. Cruiser may have an excuse for forgetting that. You don't. But there's a difference between putting it on the line and being careless."

"I get it," Face snapped. "And that's not the point."

"If what you saw out there makes you not want him at the controls, I'll strip his wings _and _his rank and send him home tomorrow. But I'm not going to do that on hearsay. Because you're right. He probably _will _go home and blow his brains out. And to say I'm _willing _to have that on my conscience is a far cry from being excited about it."

Face didn't speak. Hannibal grabbed his glass again, and poured from the bottle on the bar in front of Face, throwing it back. "I just want to know, Lieutenant," Hannibal said flatly. "I want your honest assessment, not what you feel like you have to say. What I choose to do with that is on my conscience, one way or the other. To say nothing of my military record."

He set the glass down and stood straight, turning away again. "Just let me know, Face. And I'll deal with it."

He didn't say another word as he headed for the door. This time, Face didn't call him back.


	28. Chapter Twenty Six

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

**Author's note: Next few chapters will post pretty quickly and you'll see why... but I'm going to plead here for feedback. The epilogue of this book is only loosely written, and I would REALLY like to know what readers need to see/hear in it, based on what they're thinking through these last few chapters. So please let me know. -Fig **

Murdock was lying on his bunk, boots off, eyes closed. Although there was no radio in the team room, he was singing softly. Face didn't recognize the song, and he didn't much care. He sighed as he stepped into the room, dripping wet from the torrential rains that were flooding the camp. His boots were covered in mud past his ankles, and he stopped at the door to take them off.

His eyes lingered almost involuntarily on Murdock, whose hands were now miming a drum solo, now pin-wheeling in air guitar. He was lost in his own little world. Maybe it was the best place for him right now. Face sure as hell didn't feel like talking to him at the moment. He didn't feel like talking to anybody. For the first time in a long time... he just wanted to be alone.

As he tossed the boots aside, they bounced loudly off of the plywood wall. The singing stopped abruptly and Murdock opened one bleary eye. "Oh, hey there, _amigo_!" God damn, he sounded happy. "What're ya doin' back so early?"

"Early?" Face repeated dryly. "It's almost midnight." He walked to his locker, stripping his shirt along the way. It dripped a long trail of rainwater behind him.

"Yeah, but I figured you'd have someplace other to be, Faceman."

Face sighed deeply, dropped the sopping wet shirt on the cement floor, and grabbed a towel. "Sorry to disappoint you," he answered flatly, not at all amused. "But I have nowhere to be right now."

"Hey, how can I be disappointed that you're here, buddy?" An over-energetic puppy – that's what he reminded Face of. "I like your company. I want your company. S'all good."

Face didn't look at Murdock as he ruffled the towel through his hair and dried his chest and arms. When he didn't get an answer, Murdock continued. "So how come you aren't with Cruiser? He was looking for you earlier; why didn't you go with him?" He levered himself up on elbow, watching Face change clothes. "You seem kinda down. Something bugging you?"

"No." The answer was firm, cold. He put his back to Murdock as he draped the towel over his shoulders, further invitation to leave him the hell alone. He didn't suspect it would achieve the desired effect.

"Geez. Now see... I wonder why I'd think something was bugging you? You're like something crawled up your ass and died there."

Face rolled his eyes. That man had too damn much energy. Too much to say.

"Food gettin' to your guts? Rain gettin' you down? Somethin'." Murdock shrugged and rolled to his back again. "Yer all tense. You need a massage; should have gone to the city."

Face was approaching exasperation. "Murdock..." He let it hang as he grabbed a dry pair of pants and switched them for his dripping wet ones.

"I'd offer to help you relax, but you'd never say yes to that, would you?"

Finally, Face turned and looked directly at the pilot. "Leave it alone," he ordered. His eyes were serious and dark, the look pointed. "I've got enough problems right now without trying to play best buddies." _Especially with you…_

"Now, see, that right there. It's when you have a whole passel o' problems that you need to 'play best buddies'. A problem shared is a problem two people have an' all that."

Ignoring him, Face swept the wet clothes off the floor and headed toward the door to wring them out.

Murdock didn't let up. "You keep everything all screwed up inside an' you'll just get constipated. An' who knows maybe I'll have an answer to some of those problems that have you lookin' like you lost a dollar and found a quarter. Hrmmm?" Face glanced back as Murdock sat up, crossed his legs Indian style, and patted the foot of the bed. "Take a load off. Your feet and your mind, buddy."

Face stared at him, unmoving, unamused. Was he serious? Yes, of course he was serious. It was Murdock. Face sighed, shook his head, and walked back to the lockers to hang the wet clothes on the open door. "No thanks. I like to keep my problems my own." He could hear the tone in his voice creeping closer and closer towards anger. Murdock was pushing, and somehow or another, that man had the ability to push him _right _to the edge.

"Hey now, don't be like that." Puppy. Whimpering, pathetic puppy with big brown eyes. Face felt his grip tighten on the locker. "Okay, we don't hafta talk about your problems. Just siddown an' keep a guy company can't you? Might cheer you up. I've even got some –"

Face slammed the locker door so hard it rattled the entire wall of them. "Murdock!" The sound combined sound of metal on metal and Face's yell was nearly deafening in the stillness of the room.

Murdock was staring at him, eyes wide, finally silenced.

"Enough," he warned, glaring dangerously at the pilot. He was fully ready to tell him to mind his own fucking business in no uncertain terms. But the look on Murdock's face made him stop, and he looked away again with a deep sigh, hanging his head and looking for words. None came. Damn it…

"Face?" Murdock stood, his tone now filled with concern. Face turned his back to him. "Hey, buddy, what's eatin' you? Please?"

He put a hand on Face's bare shoulder, but Face pulled away roughly. He wanted to leave. But where the hell was he supposed to go? Even if he had somewhere to be, it was fucking pouring outside and he'd just gotten dry.

"Come on," Murdock tried again as Face walked the few steps to his bunk and sat down on the edge of it. "Try something new. Like sharing those burdens for a change. Can't be that bad I ain't heard or seen worse."

Face searched for his cigarettes before realizing they'd been in the pocket of his now very wetpants. "Shit..." He glanced up briefly at Murdock. "You got a cigarette?"

"Yeah, sure." Murdock pulled the packet and lighter out of his shirt pocket, shaking it so that a couple poked from the foil. He moved closer to Face and held out the packet at arm's length. "Way you're acting I'd offer the mellow stuff if I had some."

Face took one of the cigarettes and lit it. "That's the last thing I need, Murdock." Hell, that shit was so prevalent everywhere he went, he could get it in five minutes or less if he wanted it. He didn't.

"Uh huh." Murdock hesitated, unsure. "Can I sit down?"

Face sighed. He didn't want Murdock to sit down. And he didn't want to talk, and he didn't much feel like being friendly. But he had a feeling he knew exactly how this would end up. Murdock wasn't going anywhere. Telling him to mind his own damn business would only hurt him and thus make the problem worse by giving him more to talk about. Taking a deep drag off the cigarette, Face gestured offhandedly for him to sit.

Murdock plopped down on the foot of the bed, drawing up his knees with his socked feet on the blanket. He kicked Face's leg softly with one foot and Face glared at him. He smiled back, and grabbed a cigarette for himself from the pack.

"You gonna talk now?" he asked. "Tell me what's on your mind?"

"Are you honestly expecting me to?"

"It's worth trying." Face cast a sideways glance at him, noticing the way his hands shook, fingers twitching as he fumbled with the lighter. It took him three tries to get a flame. Face frowned, inconspicuously checking Murdock's eyes for pupil dilation. He didn't actually think Murdock was high - if he was using, he would've had to get it from somewhere and Face probably would've heard about it. But it was natural and instinctive to check for the signs. Finally, he lit his cigarette and tipped his head back to blow a cloud of smoke into the air.

Murdock wasn't high. He was just in his own little world, fingers drumming a silent tune on one knee, his feet echoing the rhythm. Even as he watched Face, his eyes were somewhere far away. "I told you, Face. You're my buddy, pal, _amigo_. I hate seeing you all knotted up like macramé. I wanna help. Wanna –" He cut off that thought and suddenly his smile fell as if he'd remembered something unpleasant. He lowered his head, finishing quietly. "I wanna be good for something other than flying choppers."

Face laughed loudly, and bit back the vicious comment that came to mind about Murdock's worth as a pilot. He'd just crashed a fucking chopper into the river, walked away from the wreckage, and all he could offer was an offhanded "oops". Face's jaw clenched, holding all such references back as he suddenly realized just how pissed he was. He hadn't really thought about it before now, but it was a valid emotion. He had every _right _to be pissed. While he was busy trying to cover Murdock's ass, the pilot's biggest problem was his lacking friendships and emotional connections.

"Yeah, I know," Murdock said dryly. "Fucking pathetic."

He stood up and headed for his own bunk, body language suddenly shut down, shoulders hunched. He walked like an old man, socked feet shuffling on the concrete floor. Face didn't move, but watched him go with narrowed eyes that could almost be considered a glare.

"Do you even have any idea what you did today?" he challenged. "You're going to lose your wings, Murdock."

Murdock paused, and turned to stare at him blankly, as if he didn't understand. "Huh?"

"And now you've got Hannibal in a position where he doesn't know if he can trust you to fly, even if there _was _something he could do about it." Face heard his voice rising in intensity with every word. "How the fucking hell am I supposed to fix this? Since you seem to think that's exactly what I'm going to do."

Murdock blinked, frowned, then blinked again and rubbed his eyes like a man waking up. "What did I do?"

Face felt the anger explode inside of him. What did he _do_? Was he fucking kidding? He stood up, his voice rising to a yell. "You crashed a fucking chopper, Murdock! Over a goddamn prank!"

Murdock jerked, as if Face had just slapped him. As the words registered, he giggled. "I really did that, didn't I? Huh."

Face stared at him, jaw dropped, stunned. Laughing? He was _laughing_? "Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

Murdock sank to his bed and put his head in his hands, chuckling until, with a gurgle, the sound seemed closer to a sob. "Sorry. I... I guess I just..." He looked up. His expression was that of a kid who'd just been told that his home run hit had smashed a window. "It's gonna be bad trouble?"

Face stared at him for a moment more, dumbfounded, then turned away. Fighting an uncontrollable urge to hit something, he paced to the window and stared outside for a long moment.

"I… Face, I'm sorry, I…"

"No," Face finally answered, his voice dripping sarcasm. "No, of course not bad trouble, Murdock. Hell, it's no big deal really. I mean, you could've killed us all and the Army wants to nail your ass to the wall for property destruction and Captain Jeffries wants mine for taking that chopper off this base and leaving it in pieces in the river. But what the hell, I'll take care of it." He echoed Murdock's words from earlier with a vicious sarcasm. "I'll just smile at them. Make it all go away."

Murdock stared. It took several moments for him to find words. "That's... It's..."

"It's _what_, Murdock?" Face challenged angrily, spinning back to glare at him.

Murdock rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye socket like he had a migraine and took a shaky breath. He made several more attempts at a sentence before he found one that actually worked. "Okay, look, it's my problem."

"You're damn right it is."

Murdock took a slow, deep breath, closed his eyes, and shook his head. "I'll go to Jeffries in the morning. Hell, I'm the senior officer; it was my call, my responsibility, nothing to do with you."

Face glared daggers. "Except that I put my credibility on the line to _get _us that damn chopper."

Murdock fumbled with the cigarette, trying to raise it to his lips, and dropped it in the process. He knocked it off his lap and onto the concrete floor. Then he sat staring at his shaking hands as if he'd only just noticed them, as if they didn't belong to him. "I... We all got out okay, right? And the looks on their faces…" He smiled involuntarily.

"Murdock!"

The smile fell instantly. "I'm sorry," Murdock said quickly, glancing at Face only briefly before looking down again.

"What the hell is the matter with you?"

"I'm sorry. I…" He shut his eyes, shook his head, and sighed deeply.

Face stared at him, stunned. "You really don't get it do you?" How could he not understand what a big deal this was?

"Shit, I don't know, Face. It's all like… like a rollercoaster ride. Like I'm dreaming, or high, or… I don't know." He shuddered, and hugged himself as if he was cold, tucking his legs up.

Face didn't even know what to say anymore. A part of him was angry, even furious. But not only was Murdock not rising to the fight, he seemed genuinely confused. "What the _hell _were you thinking, Murdock?" Face demanded, his voice still low and angry.

"What the hell was I thinking?" Murdock repeated, raising his own voice for the first time. "I was thinking 'Whoo hoo, let's buzz those guys!' I was thinking 'What can I make this baby do?' I sure as hell wasn't thinking that I was dreaming but this time I was awake."

Face glared, feeling his fists tighten. "You know, I damn well _should _let you burn for this."

"So do it," Murdock said quietly, eyes lowered. "Maybe I don't belong here. Maybe I shouldn't... Maybe I need a nice safe room." That strange, sobbing chuckle again. "One with padded walls."

"Well, at least you're starting to understand how fuckin' serious it is," Face shot back.

Murdock sighed, closed his eyes, and shook his head slowly. Face watched him with diminishing anger, waiting for an explanation but knowing that if he got one, it wouldn't be sufficient.

After a long moment, Murdock took a deep, slow breath, shuffling his foot on the floor. "You know those nightmares we all fucking have that are so... real?" he whispered, glancing up briefly. "So... Those dreams you have where you wake up and it was so real you think maybe you're remembering something that happened yesterday and not a dream at all?"

He paused for a long moment, studying Face. Careful not to respond, Face just stared back, waiting.

"I have that," Murdock continued softly. "All the time, I have that. Since the camp. And then I wake up and the dream was real and I'm asleep now."

Face sighed deeply, looked back out the window, and took another deep drag off his cigarette. Leave it to Murdock to mention that goddamn camp. Face wondered if he even knew that it was his high card.

"Hannibal wants to know if you're safe to fly," Face said flatly, redirecting the conversation. "I want to know the same damn thing. Because what I saw today? What I'm hearing from you now? I'll be honest, I don't have a whole hell of a lot of confidence in your judgment. But I've never questioned your ability to fly before now." He turned back and glared directly at Murdock. "So put your fear and your guilt and whatever the hell else it is that you're feeling on the shelf and you tell me_ straight_." He paused for a long moment, waiting for the words to sink in. "What is it you want me to tell Hannibal?"

"Whatever you like."

Face growled. "No, you're going to have to give me more than that."

"What do you want me to say, Face? I trashed an expensive piece of equipment today."

"Is it going to happen again?"

Murdock shook his head, over and over again as he stared down at the floor. "No. I don't know."

"Which is it?"

"I don't know, okay?" Murdock snapped with a brief glare. "I just don't know. I can make the bird dance, but that doesn't mean I'm safe." He paused briefly. "What the hell is safe, anyways? Out here? Nothing's ever safe."

"So that's a yes or a no?"

Murdock paused, and Face saw his eyes flicker anger. "Fine. No. I'm not safe. I'm fucking crazy, okay?"

Face's expression remained unreadable. Impassive. Did he _mean _that? Or was he just saying the first thing that came to mind? Face couldn't tell.

Murdock looked away quickly. "You know, Hannibal said this was better than sitting in a room making things go quiet with cheap whiskey until I was drowning in the stuff." His gaze rose again to Face, eyes dead serious and agonized. "But no, I'm not right. And you know that. You've known that all along."

"All along, it didn't mean you were gonna get us killed."

Murdock shook his head. "Look, I don't know what you want from me, Face. I'm..." He sighed deeply as he turned away again. When he spoke again, his voice was weak. "I'm due to crash and burn, Facey. They might as well court martial me now and be done with it."

Face sighed finished the rest of his cigarette, and put it out on the windowsill before taking the two steps to the trash and dropping it. He went back to the window. "They're not going to court martial you. Hannibal might ground you, but he doesn't want you kicked out."

"Maybe they should kick me out. I crashed a chopper with my best friend in it and thought it was funny. Hell, I still fucking _do _if you want me to be honest."

Face shut his eyes, jaw clenching at those words for a number of reasons.

"It was a joke. A roller coaster ride. I fucked you over. That... they should have a rule against that."

"Hey, if a court martial is really what you want, trust me, I can arrange it. It'd be a hell of a lot easier."

"I do trust you. I don't trust me. You don't trust me. Hannibal doesn't trust me. So do it." The words came on a sad little sigh. "You know, every night it feels like it gets worse. I get crazier. Every nightmare. To where I can't even tell when I'm awake and when I'm asleep anymore. I don't think all of me came out of that black hole. Or maybe something came back out of it with me."

"Murdock, stop." If there was anything Face didn't want to talk about, the experience of being in a POW camp was it.

He paused for a long moment, and swallowed hard. "I asked... I wanted you to trust me. Hoped you might, one day. I... Looks to me like I destroyed more than a bird today. An' maybe... I couldn't live with myself if you were hurt through me. Not just... Jeffries... the chopper... the..."

Face rolled his eyes. "Good God, Murdock, come off of it. This isn't some melodramatic ending to a sappy movie about love and war." He glared briefly at the pilot. "Hannibal wants to know what the hell we're up against. If you're gonna get us killed, we need to know about that. So stop the fucking dramatics and just talk straight."

Murdock was up and in his face in three long-legged strides. "Fucking dramatics? Fucking _dramatics_?" His voice was low and deep and menacing. "I can show you fucking dramatics, _Lieutenant_!"

Face was startled by the advancement, and even more startled by the sudden fist coming at him. He didn't even block, or duck. By the time he even realized what was happening, it was too late to stop it from connecting with his jaw. Eyes wide and startled - but registering the threat - Face moved before he'd even thought about what he was doing. But his actions were curbed by the echo of Hannibal's warning in his ears the last time he and Murdock had had it out.

Grabbing Murdock's arm, he turned and shoved him face first into the wall, using his full weight to hold him there as he put his arm across the back of his neck. "What the hell is wrong with you!" he cried loudly, still startled.

High, hysterical laughter bubbled out of the other man. "I just been tellin' you that. You weren't listening. Should listen better, Facey. Half a conversation is listening…"

Gripping his shoulder, Face spun him and pushed him back again, flat against the wall. One hand grabbed his dominant arm just in case he got the urge to start swinging again. He kept the other arm across his throat, but didn't press hard enough to cut off his air. Nose to nose, only inches apart, Face stared at him with mixed emotions.

"You wanna start something with me? You wanna take this outside, _Captain_?" He used the same contempt-filled tone to address Murdock by his rank that Murdock had used on him. "I'll lay your ass out and we can both go down in flames."

Murdock swallowed hard. Face could feel it against his arm, here Murdock's adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Maybe you should, Face." His voice was quiet and choked. "Maybe that's what we need. Set the record straight once and for all."

Face glared. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Murdock shut his eyes and set his jaw, hissing through his teeth. "My whole goddamn life, it always comes to this." As his eyes opened again and locked on Face, there was fire there. "I never know what I did, what I am that makes everything so fucking worthless. So fine, okay? Fine. You win. I give up. Get rid of me. It'd be so much easier on you."

Face's eyes remained narrowed, but the anger was drained from them. "Murdock, that's not –"

"What!" Murdock yelled, cutting him off. "Not what? Not fucking dramatic enough for you?"

Murdock shoved him, hard. Instinct made Face push back, pinning him hard against the wall again. "Stop," Face warned.

"You want me to go down in flames, Face, I'll make it real easy on you."

"That's _not _what I said."

"But it's what you meant."

"I know how to speak my mind, Murdock. I was talking about _me_."

Murdock shook his head. "You don't gotta do that, Face."

"Do what?"

"You don't gotta go down with me. You just turn and walk outta here and I'll take care of the rest. Just give me five minutes."

Face's eyes widened in shock. "What is that, a threat?" Murdock turned his head away. Face stared at him, jaw dropped, stunned. "One minute you're laughing about crashing a chopper into the river and the next you're threatening suicide? What the fuck is wrong with –"

He cut off suddenly as he realized that crashing a chopper and threatening suicide were not two entirely different concepts. Face took a slight step back, still stunned and confused. "Was that what that was about?"

Murdock shook his head, eyes still down. "No."

"No because it _wasn't_ or no because it didn't work out that way?"

Murdock looked up again, eyes locked firmly on Face. "Trust me, if that had been my intention, we wouldn't be standing here having this conversation."

Face stared at him. Finally, voice low, he whispered. "You need help." It wasn't an insult, or a threat. It was more of a painful realization, and a genuine fear for Murdock's sake.

"Why?" Murdock sneered at him. "Too many fucking dramatics for you?"

Face felt as if he'd just been struck, and he set his jaw against the attack. "Murdock, I had no idea that –"

"That what!" Murdock yelled. "That I'm losin' it? I just crashed a fucking chopper and thought it was funny! Yeah, Face, I'm losin' it!"

"That's not the same as –"

"Well, it's just about as fucking dramatic as I can get, so if that's not enough I don't –"

"Oh, will you _stop_!" Face's temper flared, tired of hearing his own words turned back on him. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"Well you should be!" Murdock yelled back at him. "Or then again, maybe you shouldn't. Hell, the only time you ever mean anything you say is when you're angry. At least you were honest!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You know, most people are the other way around. They say things they _don't _mean when they're mad. With you, it's the only time you're ever honest."

"That's not true."

That tetchy, dangerous tone was creeping into Murdock's voice, more and more with each word. "Why we gotta play this game, Face? I push you, you push me? Maybe we damn well should go outside and set the record straight."

"Is that what you want?" Face challenged.

Murdock's eyes lit up like fire. "Oh, like you give a fuck what I want! Don't you dare push this off on me!"

"No, I think it's the other way around, Murdock. We're standing here because my ass is on the line for a stupidcall _you_ made. That's what this whole goddamn thing is about and don't you forget it!"

Murdock grit his teeth. "I told you, I will take responsibility for that."

"You can't! Murdock, they will ground you!"

"So let them!" The yells from both of them were echoing in the empty room. "What the fuck do you care anyways? I'm not your fuckin' problem, Lieutenant, and I don't need your help."

"You sure about that?"

Murdock shoved him – both hands against both shoulders, hard enough to make Face stumble backwards. "Fuck you!"

In a flash, Face was on him again, one hand gripping his shoulder tightly and the other pulled back in a fist. Murdock glared at him, eyes full of bitter fury. He made no attempt to shield himself, and didn't flinch as he stared Face down. "Go ahead," he growled. "You know you want to."

Face stared back at him, unmoving, but his painful grip eased off a little. The realization that he was backing down only seemed to infuriate Murdock. "Do it!" he taunted, shoving him again. This time, Face's footing was sure. He didn't move. "I'm tired of the threats; they ain't doin' a damn thing for me anymore."

Face lowered his fist and his head suddenly, but kept his grip on Murdock's shoulder. "Stop."

Murdock didn't stop. "What are you afraid of, Face? Hannibal?"

"Murdock, stop."

"Tell him I started it. Hell, _I'll _tell him I started it!"

"Stop!"

Murdock pushed off the wall again, his own fist raised. "Don't tell me to fuckin' –"

He cut off as he was slammed back into the wall again, Face's fingers digging painfully into his shoulder. His other hand was pinned to the wall by the wrist and Face, eyes dark and unreadable, had his full weight pressed against him, holding him against the thick plywood.

For a long moment, Face didn't speak. Then, finally, he whispered a soft, "Stop."

Murdock shut his eyes. He could probably break the hold. He didn't have Face outweighed by much but he had the wall as leverage. He could force the fight, force Face's hand. Why the hell would he want to? It bothered him that he couldn't come up with a satisfactory answer to that question. So many reasons… None of them made sense.

Face didn't move, didn't relax his grip this time. Murdock could feel the warmth of his breath, the heat from his body through the shirt. He swallowed hard, then opened his eyes to stare into Face's, mere inches from his own.

"Look at you," he whispered, choking on the words, his eyes brimming with tears. "All I ever wanted from you, you couldn't give it. And now you're gonna stand here and tell me to stop, like _I'm_ the one whose hurting _you_?" He shook his head as the bitter tears overflowed and glared straight at Face. He was too hurt and angry to even feel ashamed that he was crying.

"Fuck you, Face," he finally managed. He shut his eyes hard. "And all of your anger and your coldness and your need to be alone. I don't know what I did to deserve it and I don't care." His eyes opened again and he swallowed hard as he looked straight at Face. "You never should've come back for me."

Face's expression was unreadable. Whatever he was feeling – if he was feeling anything at all – it was buried under layers of practiced exterior. He was neither calm nor angry, not happy or sad, betraying nothing that was going on in his mind and emotions as tears rolled unashamedly down Murdock's cheeks.

"What is it you want from me?" Murdock whispered, pleadingly. "'Cause I don't get you. You got it all together and I just... I don't understand how you do it. I can't even relate. You're so fucking strong and I'm..." He closed his eyes, shoulders shaking. "I'm small and scared and... you don't get it. You think everything about me's dramatic and I'm a... a... what's the word? A somethin' flyboy. But you're stable. You're a rock. And I'm floating away and need to be tied to somethin' so I can come back. Do you...? Can you even understand that?"

Face stared at him, absorbing the words. They felt like a blow to the chest. Did Murdock actually _believe _that? _Of course he believes it. It's what you wanted him to believe, isn't it? What you want everyone to believe... _His chest was tight. Hard to breathe. Finally, he loosened his grip on both Murdock's shoulder and wrist, just slightly, and dropped his head forward a little as he closed his eyes and tried to think of words to answer that. There was nothing safe to say anymore.

He heard Murdock's breathing stagger, felt him shudder as he struggled not to sob. Face didn't know what to do with the raw emotion, the pain that he'd somehow caused. It hadn't been his intention – not really. Most people took a hint and backed the hell off at the first warning. But Murdock had kept coming back. It suddenly occurred to Face that he was going to keep coming back until he was broken. At the moment, it was frightening to see just how close to that edge he was.

Face looked up again. Murdock's eyes were still closed, lashes wet. His breathing was slow and shallow, jaw set in an attempt to regain control and some measure of dignity. Face watched him carefully. He looked... damaged. And for some unknown reason, it filled Face with unfamiliar feelings of guilt and remorse – feelings he hadn't known in a _very _long time.

"Murdock, look at me."

Murdock didn't look.

He sighed, and tried again – gentler this time. "Murdock. Please."

Still no response.

Very slowly, hesitantly, Face leaned forward, cheek to cheek with the pilot. "You're wrong, Murdock," he whispered, turning his head slightly to speak into his ear. "About me…"

If Murdock was surprised, or threatened, he didn't show it. He didn't react at all as Face stood very still, so close, their cheeks touching. Face was aware of the tightening in his chest, as if to protect itself from the overwhelming sense of vulnerability. He was just as aware of the warmth of Murdock's breath on the side of his face, the quiet shudder, the catch in his breath as he exhaled slowly. Almost involuntarily, Face tipped his head, nuzzling against the warmth and comfort of the human touch.

"How am I wrong?" Murdock choked, his voice catching on the words.

Face shut his eyes as the uncomfortable, exposed feeling made itself even more known. "You're dead wrong, Murdock." With a soft, shuddering breath, Face lowered his head, parted lips brushing Murdock's jaw. It wasn't a kiss, wasn't a caress. He didn't know what it was. "I'm not half as strong as you think I am."

Face turned his head and set a light, chaste kiss on the corner of Murdock's mouth, almost to his cheek. He could taste the saline from the hot tears that had left a trail from the pilot's eyes all the way to his chin. He hesitated, then withdrew slowly, unsure of what to do next. But before he'd had a chance to pull away, Murdock turned his head and caught him in a full mouth-to-mouth kiss. Face was the one caught off guard. His eyes widened in surprise, but the instinctive recoil faded quickly. Slowly, the muscles in his shoulders unclenched, and his eyes slowly slid closed as Murdock's hand moved up his side, then around to his back, pulling him closer as their mouths pressed together, both tightly closed.

Neither one of them moved, neither one of them breathed until slowly, Murdock tipped his head down a fraction. Face let out a shaky breath as he felt him caress his lower lip – first with lips, then teeth, then tongue. Face's jaw unclenched, and he let his mouth open slightly – an invitation although he didn't press forward.

Murdock hesitated. His embrace loosened. Face opened his eyes slowly to see that he was being watched. Their gazes locked hard, eyes full of fire and mixed emotion – confusion and apprehension, fear and need. Face let out the breath he'd been holding and gasped to fill his lungs again. Instantly, he was breathing hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The realization struck him. He couldn't think.

"Tell me to stop, Face." Murdock's whisper was shaky, barely audible. "Tell me I'm crazy, and this is all just a dream. And when I wake up, I'm gon' be back home in my own bed. Five-years-old, not a care in the world."

Face shut his eyes.

"Tell me there's no war," Murdock pleaded, desperately. "Tell me we're safe tonight. No sappers, no shellings. Tell me that these voices – all these voices keep screaming in my head – tell me they're not real. Tell me we didn't do this. Just tell me it's okay, Facey. Lie to me and tell me it's all gon' be okay."

Face looked up slowly, into the painful look in Murdock's eyes. It took several tries before he could make the words come out. "It's okay." His voice was weak and unconvincing. He couldn't really even believe it himself. But it was all he had to offer. None of this was okay and they both knew it.

Murdock let out a silent, shuddering sob. Face finally let go of his wrist, moving a hand to his cheek. Murdock winced, but then leaned into the comforting touch. "It's okay," Face said again, a little more sure.

Face rubbed his thumb over Murdock's cheek. There was nothing about that touch that was in any way scandalous. It was gentle and innocent – the kind of touch the nuns had offered as comfort all throughout his childhood. Clean. Chaste.

The kiss that followed was not. It was deep and passionate, and it sent a wave of heat all through Face, head to toe. That warmth was interrupted only briefly by a flicker of fear – what the hell was he doing? – before he relaxed fully into the pilot's embrace. His lips parted, and for a long moment, their tongues fought for dominance before they relaxed into a slow rhythm, a needful kiss. He felt Murdock's hands slide up, along his back, tracing the hard lines of muscle. Rough calluses brushed soft skin - a warm and gentle exploration over every inch. That touch, so much more than the kiss, was what melted him. His hand slid back into the pilot's hair, the other moving down slowly over his chest to the lowest buttons of his shirt. There was blood pooling in his groin. He wondered why that didn't scare him more than it did.

Murdock hesitated, pulling away slightly. Face pressed closer, pushing him to the wall, following the kiss. "Don't stop." Was that his voice? What was he saying? What the hell was he thinking? And why didn't he care? "Please. I'm sorry..."

Murdock opened again to him and they came together in a blur of hot, scandalous emotion. There was no thought. Face's hand moved down lower, fingers working at the front of the fatigues, sliding down and inside. Murdock gasped as he hardened against Face's hand. Locked in a deep, open-mouthed kiss, eyes closed and minds hazed, they didn't even hear the door open.


	29. Chapter Twenty Seven

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

Murdock's back was pressed flat against the plywood wall and Face - shirtless - was pressed against him with his hand inside the front of Murdock's pants. Lip-locked and eyes shut, they were too involved to even notice that the door had just opened.

Cruiser grabbed the door handle, leaning more of his weight on it than usual to keep upright. Speechless, stunned, he stood there for a long moment, stock still. It took several long seconds for his mind to put the scene together and make sense of it. "What the fuck!"

Face pulled away and spun so fast he nearly fell over in the process. Stumbling to find his footing, he stared in wide-eyed horror as Cruiser slammed the door shut and struggled to find his balance again. "You so hard up you blow me off to fuck a flyboy?"

Face shut his eyes, covering them with one hand. "Oh, Jesus," he muttered under his breath.

"Oh Jesus my ass, you fucking faggot," Cruiser slurred. There was no denying what he was seeing now. Though quickly recovering from the shock, they were both still trying to catch their breath. Cruiser took a couple heavy steps forward, the can of beer in his hand sloshing over as he went.

"No," Face protested. "It's not like that."

Cruiser almost laughed. How stupid did they think he was? He wasn't _that _drunk.

"It was my fault," Murdock said quietly, pushing off the wall and stepping up beside Face.

Cruiser noticed the way Face turned and glared at him. Whoever was at fault, it mattered very little to Cruiser's alcohol-saturated mind. He focused on Face. He was a better target. "So I guess flyboy here is just a really fucking ugly chick, huh?" he sneered. "Got you drunk, finally came clean to you." He inched closer, his voice rising an octave to a falsetto. "'Face, I find you so fucking attractive, and I know you'll fuck anything with a pussy. Guess what, you're in luck, cause I just happen to be packing vag and it's all yours if you say the word.'"

Murdock's jaw tightened. Face stepped forward, placing himself directly between Murdock and Cruiser. "You're drunk, Cruiser. And you have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you were just helping him crack his back right?" Cruiser sneered at him. "Nice try. But I ain't that drunk."

"Look, just back the fuck off," Face warned, his voice dark and too calm.

Cruiser straightened at the tone. How dare Face put him on the defensive! "What, gonna protect flyboy's honor?"

Murdock put a hand on Face's shoulder, pushing him aside. Face resisted, and Murdock simply walked around. "I don't need his help," Murdock said flatly. "You got somethin' to say to me, you can say it to my face."

Face stood down, watching the two of them as Cruiser looked the pilot over. "You suddenly grow a pair or you just doing some more masquerading?"

Murdock's eyes grew dark. Dangerous. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

Murdock growled. "I'm _hoping _it means you wanna take this outside."

Face stepped closer, put a hand on Murdock's shoulder to pull him back a little, stepping between the two of them. "_Not_ with an injured arm." He glared at Cruiser, reneging the challenge before Cruiser could step up to it.

"Fuck you," Cruiser spat at Face. "Oh wait, that's flyboy's job. My mistake."

Murdock lunged forward and Face stepped fully between them. Cruiser threw down the beer can, ready for it, but Face pushed Murdock back, out of range. He whispered something - Cruiser couldn't hear what - and Murdock slowly untensed. But his eyes remained firmly fixed on Cruiser with a look of burning anger.

Cruiser sneered at him. It was sickening the way Face kept him back. "Down girl," he mocked.

Murdock's eyes blazed. "_Fuck_ you!"

Face whispered again. Murdock's hands were balled into fists and shaking at his sides, but he didn't press against Face, made no effort to go after Cruiser again as Face took a slight step back.

"Oh, nice, Lieutenant. You know how to keep your bitch in check." Cruiser smirked at Murdock. The pilot wasn't a threat, no matter how much he wanted to think otherwise. "That'll be good practice in the stockade with all the other queers."

Face turned slowly toward him, head lowered. His eyes sparked, then caught fire. The look screamed bloodlust, though Face's steady hands were still calmly at his sides. "Are you _sure _you wanna fuck with me Cruiser?"

Face knew damn well that Cruiser didn't consider Murdock a threat - whether or not he should. But the two of them were evenly matched - ounce for ounce of spilled blood. And as the adrenaline stepped up, fight or flight instincts kicking in, Face locked his eyes hard on his opponent. It was a fine line to walk. He couldn't beat the shit out of Cruiser, no matter how much he might deserve it. With a broken arm and after a night of drinking, Cruiser wouldn't last five seconds. No way he'd explain that to Hannibal.

But even so, he'd be damned if he would run away.

"Fuck with you?" Cruiser laughed. "You'd better talk to flyboy about how he feels with me stepping in on his territory." He looked up at Murdock again and smiled wickedly. "Wouldn't want to make him cry..."

Face was just as aware of the tension from Murdock behind him – whose tear-stained face was a dead giveaway - as the threat of Cruiser in front of him. But Murdock didn't move.

"Or is that how you control them, Lieutenant?" Cruiser challenged. "Hurt their warm fuzzies and when they finally break down sobbing, you swoop in for the kill? Or should I say lay?"

"Wanna find out?" Face threatened, his voice low and dangerous. "Bet I could make you shed a few tears by the time we're through."

Cruiser stepped up. "Do it. See how well that goes."

Face didn't flinch. "You've got a hurt arm, Cruiser. You really think it's a good idea?"

"Oh, yeah, you're the picture of sound decision making. Fuck a flyboy, but be careful of the guy with the hurt arm."

"It's not for my sake that I'm being careful."

Cruiser growled audibly. "Don't use me as an excuse, Lieutenant."

"An excuse?" Face raised a brow. "You're so fucking drunk, you don't even have the sense to know when to back down." Face didn't use a fist. He just shoved him, hard enough to send him sprawling.

Face's point was made. Cruiser's back hit the floor and it took him several attempts before he could even sit up, let alone stand. "Fuck you," he slurred as he tried to get to his feet, and fell back down again. This time, he started laughing.

Face remained stock still, hands at his sides, ice cold eyes locked hard on the drunken, stumbling man who couldn't seem to get himself up off the floor. Cruiser stopped laughing as he noted Face's glare. But he didn't speak. Face watched him for a long moment, then stepped back and turned away. With a quick glance at Murdock, he nodded in the direction of the door. It was still pouring rain outside, and Face's boots still weren't dry from the last time, but they couldn't very well stay in here. Besides, Cruiser would probably pass out in a few short minutes. They wouldn't have to be gone long. Just long enough to get drenched by the monsoon rains. Face sighed internally.

"Hey." Cruiser was struggling to sit up again. As Face glanced back at him, he saw a fake smile. "At least give me a hand up."

Face eyed him warily. Before he had a chance to decide whether or not to trust the smile, Murdock had offered a hand down to him. Cruiser hesitated at the outreached hand, and Face immediately knew he'd been right not to trust it. Cruiser had been baiting him; he didn't want Murdock's help. But after a long pause, he finally reached for it. Face watched, and waited to see if he'd try anything.

He did. As soon as he found his balance, shoulder to shoulder with Murdock and facing opposite directions, he planted his right foot behind Murdock's leg, reached across his chest, and he put all of his weight into forcing the pilot over backwards. Tripped and startled by the speed, Murdock's back hit the cement squarely.

Face stepped up just as Cruiser spun to his left and swung. Face had plenty of time to duck, to avoid the blow. But he didn't have a chance to decide whether or not to strike back. Murdock hadn't even made it to his feet before he was lunging at Cruiser. He caught him, turned him, and pinned him to the plywood wall before either of them could react.

Cruiser struggled, wrapping his one good hand around the back of Murdock's head and pulling to the right. But with one arm, Cruiser was less dangerous. He was also drunk and not thinking. Face wasn't sure which of the two of them he was more concerned about. It didn't really matter. Without hesitating, he pushed his way between them as Murdock stumbled from the knee to his side.

Face shoved Murdock back hard, getting him out of the way, then turned to Cruiser. Instantly, he had one hand to his throat and the other pulled back. "Cruiser!" His yell echoed off the empty walls. "I will put you through this _fucking _wall if you so much as look at me funny right now!"

The ice cold look in Face's eyes was not that of a man going off the deep end. He knew exactly what he was saying, and it was not an empty threat. Cruiser grabbed his wrists, but the gesture did him no good. "Do it." Cruiser laughed, almost manic. "The day I got my ass kicked by a lying fag."

Face straightened, put his shoulders back, and every muscle tensed. But the blow landed a half inch to the side of Cruiser's head, cracking loudly against the plywood. Face's eyes remained locked on Cruiser's. Cruiser sobered instantly. The laughing stopped. Clearly, he had _not_ missed. And clearly, Cruiser's reflexes were not such that he would have escaped the blow if it had been aimed at his face.

"Let. Me. Go." Though it was clearly meant to be a threat, Cruiser knew full well that if Face let him go, it was only because he chose to do as much.

At that moment, Face's eyes were those of a man who could kill in cold blood and never feel remorse. He loosened his grip on Cruiser's throat, and lowered his other hand away from the wall, leaving blood where he'd split his knuckles on impact. "You come see me again when you sober up," he said, ice cold.

He turned a little, shoved Cruiser to the side, and took a step back. He hadn't been intending to throw him in the direction of Murdock, but that was exactly where he ended up. Before he had a chance to really regain his footing, Murdock laid one well aimed blow on his jaw with sufficient force to send him back against the wall. Murdock didn't follow through on it.

Cruiser gave a muted laugh as he stared at Murdock. His balance was off, and the alcohol made it impossible to defend himself. He knew it. He hated it. As he wiped the blood from his mouth, he smirked at Murdock. "Beat up by a fucking fairy."

Cruiser pushed himself off the wall and took a step towards Murdock again. But before they could connect, Face had grabbed Murdock's arm and was jerking him in the direction of the door. "Let's go."

Murdock didn't argue. They grabbed their boots on the way out the door, into the pouring monsoon rain.

*X*X*X*

The rain had soaked them in seconds, and it made no difference that they were sitting in the mud. Murdock didn't know what to say, what to do. Instinct told him to wait, to let Face initiate the conversation if there was to be any. But after a long, uneasy silence, it was clear that he had no intention of speaking.

Murdock shifted uneasily. "You um… you wanna –"

"No." The invitation for a drink was turned down before it was even made.

Murdock nodded and shifted again, burying his hands deep in his pockets as he stood. He waited for Face's suggestion, but none came. After another long moment, another lingering and uncomfortable silence, he tried again. "I'll buy."

Face sighed and stood. "No. Murdock. I…" He shook his head, never finishing. With his head turned away, Murdock couldn't read his expression or even guess what he was thinking. Of course, at the moment, Murdock wasn't sure what _he _was thinking, either. There was confusion in his head; he couldn't sort it out. It was easier to try and focus on something else. Like Face.

"Face?"

He turned, and met Murdock's stare. His expression was pained and confused, anger still lingering beneath the surface. "Look, I just need a few minutes, okay?" He nearly choked on the words. "Please. I can't talk right now. Back off."

Murdock swallowed hard and nodded. The pleading tone made it feel far less like a rejection – something he'd become rather accustomed to hearing from Face – and more like a cry for help. But he didn't know how to help except to do as Face asked.

"I uh… heard they got my chopper running again, so I'm gon' go and…" Murdock gestured over his shoulder.

Face nodded, and made an unconvincing attempt at a smile. The effort made Murdock even more uneasy. When _Face _couldn't manage a smile, something was very wrong.

Murdock turned, and was several paces away before he let out the breath he was holding. At twenty yards or so, he heard Cruiser's voice again and turned to look over his shoulder. But he kept moving. He wasn't the one Cruiser was yelling at; it was Face. A few more slurs and insults followed Face's retreating form, but Face neither turned nor called back. He just raised one finger over his shoulder and kept walking. Murdock ducked behind one of the buildings before Cruiser had a chance to look around for him.

The LZ where all of the choppers were parked was not far from the team room. It was eerily quiet, two dozen silent birds ready for war and no one around to fly them. The closest living soul was the guard in a tower a good hundred yards away. He was far more interested in what was going on outside the wire than inside. Murdock regarded him briefly, but couldn't see much in the dark. It didn't matter, really. He was far enough away that Murdock still felt confident in the fact that he was alone. And for some strange reason, he really wanted to be alone right now.

He found his bird without difficulty. An involuntary smile crossed his lips as he caressed the bullet-ridden metal – patched one too many times to look undamaged. "Hi, baby," he whispered, fingertips gently kissing every one of her scars. "Did you miss me?"

Even with the engine wound down, he could swear he heard her purr. His smile widened as he circled, inspecting the cosmetic work before opening the engine compartment and checking the repairs to the fuel line. Everything was sealed tight. "Looks like they did a good job, baby." He shut the compartment again and pressed his palm to the warm metal, a firm but gentle caress. "You gon' be ready to sing for me tomorrow? 'Cause I got plans for you, babe."

He could've done the whole inspection in less than ten minutes. It took him an hour. He was in no hurry. Finally, he crawled into the cargo bay and lit a cigarette as he rested his head back on the inside wall and relaxed.

Somewhere nearby, one of their camps was getting shelled. Murdock could hear the echo of the explosions as he dragged deeply on his cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs for a long, satisfying moment. His mind wandered. He'd expected it to, but he didn't like it. There was too much to think about. Too many things he didn't want to think about.

What the hell had happened back there?

The memory, while still fresh, was confused. He wasn't sure who was at fault or, really, what had even happened. Replaying it back in his mind only filled him with embarrassment and confusion. He'd wept openly in front of Face. And looking back on it, maybe he really _had _gone overboard with the dramatics. He certainly hadn't meant to. At the time, it had been no more than what he genuinely felt. Pushed around and pushed away one too many times, there was something inside of him that just needed to know if anyone really gave a shit anymore.

He'd needed to feel connected – worth something. How the lines had gotten crossed and ended with him and Face lip-locked, he never would know. Just the thought made his face burn. God damn. At least if he'd been drunk, he would've had an excuse.

_Not much of one_, he thought bitterly.

Murdock had never wondered about new-age concepts like "sexual identity" and "free love". They had simply never entered his mind. He still didn't know what had happened back there, but he knew it sure as hell didn't have anything to do with love and attraction. Not in that way. Not sex. He'd panicked when he felt Face's hand rubbing him – another reaction he couldn't explain but at least one he could live with. His only thought had been to frantically question what the hell he'd gotten himself into. He hadn't been expecting it, although he still couldn't figure out why. It hadn't been the first time, after all…

Face had vehemently denied being gay. Murdock believed him. He'd blamed the alcohol for his actions the last time. Murdock believed that, too. But it didn't explain what had happened this time around. It didn't explain Face's hand, or his words, and it sure as hell didn't explain why Murdock had turned and kissed him when he would've backed away.

_That was different. That was just a kiss. A lot of cultures kiss in greeting._

_"Not with their mouths open, flyboy."_

Shit, how had it gotten so far out of control?

"Hey, pilot."

Murdock came back from his thoughts suddenly and realized he had absolutely no idea how long he'd been lost in them. He blinked and stared for a moment at the dark shadow of a man standing just outside the open side of the chopper, peering inside.

"Huh?"

"This your bird?" the man asked.

The question caught Murdock off guard. He answered instinctively, honestly. "Yeah, she's mine."

"Heh." The shadowed figure, unidentifiable in the dim light, ran a hand along the edge of the doorway. "She's pretty. Parker's baby brother is moving up in the world."

Murdock's eyes narrowed at the mention of his brother. He desperately wished he could see the face of the man who obviously knew him. "Fresco?" he guessed.

"Heh. Nice try. Fresco's been dead about three months."

Murdock pasted a smile on his face, though he was pretty sure it was hidden by the darkness. "Help me out here. It's too dark to see you."

The man chuckled. "Well. How convenient for me."

Murdock blinked, startled and confused by the statement.

"A little bird told us you were on base." He suddenly realized that the intruder – or guest; he hadn't quite decided yet – was not alone. As he stared into the shadows, he saw them move. Three, four, five guys out there. "Thought we'd come say hello."

"Did you prefer to say it in the dark?" Murdock asked warily, sitting up straighter. "How about we go get a drink?"

Laughter. Mocking laughter. More than a few of them. Murdock felt his shoulders tense, fight or flight instincts engaging before he was even sure of the threat. How many were there? What did they want? Why were they stepping up to both sides of his chopper, blocking him in?

"We brought the drink with us," the first man snickered.

Murdock swallowed hard, not liking the tone of the soldier's voice as he jumped up into the cargo bay. Instinctively, Murdock pressed back against the wall, fists tightening as he realized he had nowhere to run. He took a deep, slow breath as he pulled his arm back slightly, inconspicuously. "You mind getting out of my chopper?"

It might've been a request. But it was definitely a warning, too. It wasn't heeded. In fact, as soon as he'd finished, more of them climbed up and inside. The threat became more evident, and Murdock's heart beat faster. No way in hell he could take them all. But he had nowhere to go. Trapped.

"Aw, relax, flyboy," the man chuckled, moving in closer. As he came within a few feet, Murdock caught a glimpse of the sadistic look in his eye, and the full smile of glistening white teeth. "You're gonna _love _this game."


	30. Chapter Twenty Eight

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

"RT Columbia inserted four nights ago, twenty miles inside of Cambodia, near LZ Crow," Hannibal informed, pulling the curtain back on the map that was hanging in the wall of the TOC. "Covey wasn't able to raise them yesterday morning."

"And we just now hearin' about it?" BA asked.

"We're not on Bright Light duty," Face reminded, his voice quiet and unassuming. He didn't even look up from the spot he'd been staring at since arriving in the small, underground bunker. "Why are they sending us after a downed team?"

"And why ain't they sendin' us sooner?" BA demanded again.

"They already sent a Bright Light team." He gestured to the man standing next to him. "Sergeant Jason Holster was the Bright Light's One-Zero."

Holster stepped forward and put his shoulders back as all eyes came to rest on him. "RT Columbia is assumed all KIA. We recovered four bodies – two Americans and four Yards. All of them were," he swallowed, but continued after only a brief pause, "mutilated beyond recognition. We can't confirm which two Americans they were. Yet."

"So this is a POW snatch," Face assumed, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. Where the hell was Murdock? He should be in this room, listening to their orders. But no one had seen him all morning.

"We never recovered the body," Holster continued. "But we have reason to assume that he's dead. There was a lot of blood a short way from where we found the others, and tracks that look like the body was dragged to the road."

"Why take his whole body if he's dead?" Face asked, his tone flat. "They can claim their reward with just a hand. Or an ear."

"We don't know."

"What you want us to do?" BA demanded. "Find the body?" The thought clearly disgusted him – and with reason. There were live soldiers out there in NVA hands. "If you so sure he's dead, what you need us for?"

"It's not the body we're after," Hannibal stated firmly. "It's some information that he had on him."

"It was day four of their mission that they went missing," Holster reminded. "On day two, they'd managed to infiltrate an enemy camp and get back out with photos and papers that we consider very valuable."

Face raised a brow. "You want us to go into Cambodia in search of specific papers and photos that an MIA soldier had on him when he was most likely killed?"

"That's the long and short of it, yes."

Face sighed, and hung his head in his hands, silent as he listened with disinterest to the details of their assignment. Hannibal asked for questions, then dismissed them to get ready. "And where the hell is Murdock?" he demanded as Face stood and stretched.

"I'll go find him," Face offered. "My gear is ready to go."

"Fine. Meet us at the chopper in ten minutes."

*X*X*X*

Face knew that Murdock wasn't in the team room. He'd never come back the night before. Face didn't even bother checking there. He headed to the next logical place that Murdock would hide - his chopper. He'd mentioned it the night before. It seemed the most likely place to look.

Face knew what he was looking for. He knew where to find it. He approached quietly, glancing around. There was no one around. If he was there, he was in the back of it. "Murdock, you there?"

There was no answer, but there was a groan. A wet cough and some muffled, muttered cursing. Face blinked, surprised, and poked his head around the side of the cargo bay, dropping his gear on the floor. "Murdock, what the fuck are you doin' in here? You missed our –"

He stopped suddenly as the smell hit him: urine and vomit in sickening amounts. Face's eyes widened in surprise, and it took him a minute to even see Murdock, huddled in the corner next to the tool box. He couldn't see him well in the shadows. What he did see involved a fair amount of blood. It was still trickling down Murdock's chin and nose. His entire face looked swollen.

Eyes wide, Face jumped up into the back of the chopper. "Murdock! Jesus Christ! What the hell happened to you?"

Murdock groaned again. "Shhh… Don't." He was so quiet, the words barely formed on his swollen lips. "Head hurts."

It was everything Face could do to keep his voice lower than a yell. "What happened?"

No answer.

Face's eyes remained wide as saucers as he crawled across the back of the chopper. He grabbed Murdock's chin and turned his face so that he could look at it. Murdock bit back a noise that might have been a scream had he actually opened his mouth. Face wasn't sure he actually could open his mouth with all the swelling around his jaw. The pilot's face was a mess of puffy bruises - his eyes nearly swollen shut. His lip was split, and the side of his mouth, in a way that took Face a long moment to figure out. That wasn't from a fist, or any kind of blow from the outside. It was from the way his mouth had been opened – forced open.

Face's stomach turned as both the sight and the smell of the mess all over the front of Murdock's fatigues - vomit and urine and god-knows-what-else - hit him at once. He shut his eyes hard to pull himself back under control. "Murdock," he said quietly, his voice measured carefully. "What happened?"

Whether from the words or the touch or the reawakened pain, Murdock seemed to be trying to open his eyes. He was trying to speak, too. His mouth didn't really open, but the sound might have been Face's name. "D'ing 'ere?" He swallowed, licked his split lips, winced and grimaced. Every word and movement seemed to cause more pain.

"Jesus, Murdock..."

Face turned back to his gear and grabbed the canteen of water. Turning back, he slid a hand carefully around the back of Murdock's head and tipped the water up to his lips, trying to get him to drink. As the water - and the metal of the lip of the canteen - touched his lip, Murdock flinched back as if he'd just been slapped across the face. His breathing staggered and almost instantly, he was hyperventilating, shaking.

"Nooo... Please." It was as muffled as the first words had been, but the sense was clear. Tears trickled from his puffy eyes as Face pulled the canteen back, startled. "No more…"

"It's just water, Murdock."

"Please…" His shoulders were trembling.

"Relax."

Face wasn't going to ask again what had happened. He was starting to put the pieces together for himself. As he set the canteen down, he reached back into his bag for the few medical supplies they all carried. He ripped open the package from a sterile bandage and wet it, then held the back of Murdock's head again as he tried to gently clean the blood from off of his chin. It was a futile effort. He was too beat up to clean with a single wet bandage.

"My God... We need to get you to the dispensary."

The puffy eyes blinked and opened a fraction wider at that. "No!" The clarity and volume of that statement startled Face. Murdock fumbled and managed to lift a hand to grip Face's arm - surprisingly hard, considering - with a hand that was as battered as his face. "No, no, no, no, nononononooooo…" The negations were rapid, muttered until the repeated "nos" blurred into a single sound. But it was still the clearest thing Murdock had said thus far.

Face looked down at the hand that was gripping him. Murdock's knuckles were bruised and split in a way that made Face hope he'd at least got a few hits on his attackers. From the way they didn't bend with the rest of the hand it looked like two of his fingers had been broken. They were twice their normal size.

"No. Face, no."

Face swallowed hard. He was used to violence - used to blood and gore and killing. He was used to watching men, women, and children of all ages die. He was used to rescuing half-dead POWs who'd been beaten senseless. But the sudden realization that the POW snatches were exactly what he was comparing this to filled him with fury. There were no NVA in this camp. VC, sure enough, but they hadn't done this. Murdock's _own _men had done this. Suddenly, it was everything he could do to keep his anger in check. He tried to focus on the injuries instead - the need to help Murdock.

"Murdock, you're hurt. You need medical care. You..."

"No, no, Face, please…"

He suddenly realized - still putting the pieces together very slowly - why Murdock didn't want to go to the dispensary. And in his shoes, Face couldn't imagine he would've felt any differently. Fine. They'd compromise. "Alright, look." He pulled away and closed up the canteen again. "Can you walk? Let's get you someplace safe. Okay?"

Murdock laughed, high and painful, then choked. He tried to spit but only succeeded in dribbling down his chin. No fresh blood, thank God. He hitched a sob that ended in a groan as he tried to get his other arm around his ribs. It wasn't cooperating. Face could tell by looking at it that the shoulder was dislocated. Damn it…

Murdock was still gripping him hard enough to bruise. "Face?" The letter "f" was impossible with a lower lip too split and swollen to touch with his teeth. But somehow the attempt was still filled with bitter irony.

"Murdock," Face answered quietly, deceptively calm. "Let me get you to the team room."

"No…"

"That wasn't a request." He tried to put his own arm alongside Murdock's to hold his ribs. It occurred to him only afterwards that he was going to have to change before he went out in the field. The smell was nauseating. "Come on. Nobody will bother you there. And we can get you cleaned up."

Murdock made another of those swallowed screams as Face tried to move him. He couldn't pull himself up with his arms, but somehow he managed to get his feet under him. He stayed in a crouch for a moment, eyes shut, tears trickling out, swallowing convulsively.

He was sweating heavily already; it running down his face and soaking his armpits. As he moved it became clear he'd wet himself at some point - at least Face hoped it was only urine because if it was blood they were really fucked. God, he was a mess…

Murdock was trying to pant through the pain, but the busted ribs and the way he curled against his gut kept his breathing painfully shallow. He coughed again. "Sorry…." Under the swelling his face was working and he tried to clench his jaw. "Face? Really Face? Please?"

"It's okay." Face put an arm around him, supporting his weight. "Just take it slow. Take it easy for a minute."

Murdock tried to open his eyes, and failed. He licked his lips. "No… So sorry… No one… Didn't get you?"

"Don't talk," Face ordered. "Come on. Hannibal's going to be here any minute. You don't want him to see you like this."

Face straightened, startled by his own words. Shit, where had _that _come from? Hannibal should be the lastperson they were hiding from right now. He was going to have to know, and he would know. But the words were instinctive, and Face couldn't take them back now. He stepped down from the chopper, looked to make sure the coast was clear, and mapped the straightest, most secluded path to the team room before he reached up to help Murdock down.


	31. Chapter Twenty Nine

**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE**

If every twitch had hurt, trying to walk was pure agony. Murdock's breathing was more difficult as he tried to control the pain. Tears trickled down steadily and mingled with the sweat on his wet face. Making it to the ground from the raised floor of the chopper was so painful that one of the bitten off screams actually made it out of Murdock's mouth. He nearly collapsed, sobbing, leaning almost his full weight on Face.

Though skinny, Murdock was also six foot tall. Face was slowed considerably with the effort of keeping him steady. But Murdock couldn't move very fast anyways. Heaven smiled on them and they saw no one as they weaved through the choppers, around to the team room that was thankfully nearby. If it had been on the other side of the base, Face wasn't sure what they would've done.

As it was, they made it to the building without incident. Face checked to make sure it was empty before he opened the door wide and stepped inside, pulling Murdock with him. He shut the door, and Murdock put his weight against the wall as Face grabbed the chair from the desk in the corner, wedging it under the knob.

"Take your clothes off," Face ordered, not looking at Murdock, who was sliding down the wall. Even as his legs were going out from under him, Murdock tried to unfasten his fatigues with the three working fingers of what looked like his good hand. He made no attempt to try to lift the other arm from his middle, seemingly as much to support the arm as his ribs.

Face grabbed a bucket and a washcloth on his way to the sink. While the bucket filled with warm water, he walked to Murdock's locker and grabbed another set of fatigues. Murdock had given up on his efforts to unbutton his shirt by the time Face knelt beside him with clean clothes and the water. Moving Murdock's hands aside, Face finished with the buttons and pushed the shirt off of Murdock's shoulders carefully.

The sight of the bruises made his eyes widen again. "Jesus..." For a moment, he just stared.

"Yeah. I bruise easy. Pale skin."

His lips moved - an attempt at a smile. Face felt as if he'd just been struck. Murdock was… he was trying to assure _him_! Finally, Face felt it – the first real flicker of emotion found its way through the shock and horror. Pain and concern and agony, in equal amounts. No longer operating on instinct, it was as if Face suddenly realized what he was seeing. There were no words. He searched and searched, but came up empty. Jaw slack, he shook his head, unable to find anything at all to say.

"Hey." Murdock moved his good hand, went to touch Face's cheek. He didn't make it. He dropped his hand, wincing in pain, and shook his head. "Didn't get you… Keep…"

"Murdock, don't talk."

"No," Murdock said firmly. "S'important." He took a deep breath, and winced at the pain it caused. "Keep your eyes… keep 'em open. Bastards… know…" He was nearly hyperventilating from the exhausting pain of trying to speak. But his dark eyed were agonized with more than physical pain. "So sorry."

Face suddenly felt sick. He shut his eyes, set his jaw, and turned his head away, sucking in a deep breath of air. "Oh God. Jesus, Murdock." He put up a hand to cover his face. His chest was so tight he couldn't breathe. "God, don't..." His hand began to shake, and he balled it into a fist. "I'm sorry. My God, I'm so sorry."

Murdock shivered violently, hugging himself with the bad arm again and trying to curl into a ball. He groaned with pain again, but shook his head. "Don't. Hey." His breathing was still labored, and his hand shook as he put it on Face's knee, briefly, then shifted it to his shoulder and squeezed. "There's a lot of guys ain't too fond of me, Face... Prob'ly looking for… for an excuse. Ya know?"

Face stared him straight in the eye, not buying it. He lowered his eyes away as a dark, dangerous look passed over them. The pieces were falling into place. Cruiser. Cruiser was the only one who knew - or _thought _he knew – anything that would make this happen. He was the only one who could've been responsible. As he reached for the washcloth and wrung it out, he set his jaw, tense. "I'm going to fucking kill him," he whispered under his breath, dead serious.

The words - and the look - made Murdock's shivering even worse. "Hell, no, Face. No. Please." Every shudder wracked his damaged body and it hurt less to clench his jaw than to let his teeth chatter. Still, he tried to take a deep breath, sit up straighter, and look as okay as he could manage. "Too dangerous for you."

Face growled audibly. "I'm not worried about _me_."

"I am."

Face's only worry was tied up in the state of the team with Murdock injured, Cruiser dead, and himself in jail. His eyes remained dark as he wiped the blood from Murdock's face, and wrung out the rag again before bringing it to his neck.

"M'worried 'bout you and I care 'bout you and just... no. Don't go lookin' for trouble. Please..."

Face glanced up and met his gaze briefly. Murdock was in anguish, but the words were more a plea now than they'd been even in the chopper, when he hadn't immediately recognized that Face was not another assailant.

"Face? You... Hurts, right? Seein' me like this?"

"Murdock…"

"Don't. M'already scared for you. If I think you're gonna do somethin' crazy..."

"Don't worry about me, Murdock. I can take care of myself."

"I couldn't…" Murdock swallowed painfully, slumping again, whimpering. "You think if you take him out... and the MPs get you… you think they won' come after me again? Blame me?"

Face looked away.

"Need someone to watch my back, Face. I'll watch yours. Please…"

Face rinsed the rag again, then put it in Murdock's hand as he turned his attention to Murdock's ribs. He pressed carefully, not wanting to cause any more pain than absolutely necessary. Murdock bit his spit lip regardless of the fresh blood, then winced and swore as Face pressed against the sixth rib on his right. It moved.

Face sighed deeply. "Jesus, Murdock..." He shook his head as he looked up, his expression pained and unsure. "I'm _not _a medic."

"Jus' bind it up. I'm not coughing or spittin' blood, so it hasn't scratched a lung."

"That's not –"

"All anyone can do for broken ribs is strap you up and tell you not to move much," Murdock breathed. "You know that. Won't be doin' much of that anyway."

Face frowned deeply. "Murdock, at least..." He searched for a solution he was more comfortable with. "At least let me get Hannibal; he's done medic training."

"No!"

Face winced, both at the idea and its expected response, and immediately tried to make it sound better. "He's gonna know about this anyways. You can't hide it from him." _Especially when I kill Cruiser. He'll need an explanation for that..._

"No," Murdock begged. "Please. At... at least let me get the piss and... Lemme get the taste outta my mouth? Let... Lemme... I need to..." For the first time, the harsh, cracked voice broke. Suddenly, Murdock was sobbing. "I'm gonna fall apart soon, Face... Don't… I can't let him see me like… Please!"

"Murdock, I –"

"No! Please!" Sobbing, shaking, Murdock was close to hyperventilating as the tears streamed down his face. His voice was high and small as he shook, the words tumbling out in no particular order, as if he wasn't really processing any of what he was saying. "I pissed myself and they... they... used... said I liked it so I could take it... and –"

"Murdock, _stop_!' Face reached up, one hand on either side of the pilot's face, and turned his head until they were eye to eye. Murdock sobbed, hard and harsh, moaning with the pain as he tried to pull away from Face, curl into a ball, hide. But Face held him steady, one hand on each cheek. "You're okay. You're safe. It's over." _And I am going to kill every last fucking one of those -_ Face cut off the thought. Murdock didn't need to hear that. He didn't need to see it in Face's eyes, either.

Murdock got his good hand over his face, broken fingers sticking out obscenely and turned into his own shoulder and the wall as much as possible. The sobs shook him, each one ending on a whine of pain. Face turned his head back and leaned forward, pulling Murdock in closer and tipping both their heads down, chin to chest. He touched their foreheads together, his hands steady and tight. "It's okay. You're okay."

Murdock tried to hold his breath, struggled for control. He couldn't seem to stop the tears or the shaking. The sobs quieted a little though as he leaned forward into Face. But then, with a sudden gasp of pain, he jerked back. Face let him go. "Nnnh… no. Don't. We can't be… They'll see…"

Face sighed deeply. "There's no one here, Murdock. And we're not doing anything wrong. You're hurt and I'm helping you clean up. Helping you pull it together because right now, man? You need some help."

Face took the rag, wet it again, and washed it over Murdock's face. His lips were wobbling and the tears kept falling. He didn't even try to wipe them away. "But Face –"

"No," Face said firmly. "Anybody who's got a problem with that can take it up with me." _Let them try. _Please _let them try it. _Face kept the anger hidden well, but he didn't try to silence the threats that were screaming in his mind.

Murdock's sobs quieted as Face cleaned the blood from his face and his hands. As Face looked up again, just briefly, he saw Murdock watching him. "You're okay," he said quietly, reassuringly.

"Face?"

"Hmm?"

"Why ain't you...? How can you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Aren't you just… disgusted?"

"Absolutely." Face touched the rag to the corner of Murdock's mouth to soak up the blood that was coming from the split that had reopened. "But not with you."

"Huh? But -"

"Look, Murdock…" Face's expression was both pleading and pained as he glanced up at Murdock's eyes. He shook his head again. "I'd tell you this is my fault, but you'd just argue with me even though you know it's true. And I'd rather you save your breath 'cause I've gotta wrap those ribs."

Murdock drew in a shaky breath. Even half buried in swollen, angry looking flesh, his eyes shone with the tears that continued to leak from them, wetting his lashes every time he blinked and rolling down his cheeks. He nodded slowly in reply, and winced. "I don' know whether this arm is broken or out of joint... but you're gonna hafta to move it."

Face nodded. "It's dislocated. Your shoulder."

Murdock closed his eyes, licked his lips again, panting shallowly. "Top of my chest doesn't hurt so much... If I... If I sat between your legs, against you... y'know? I think you could hold me like that. Under the armpits?" He swallowed, licked his lips and opened his eyes again.

Face tipped his head down a bit to catch Murdock's eye. "Are you _sure_ you don't wanna go to the dispensary? They might be able to do this a little less painfully than I can."

Murdock just looked at him. "Got any whiskey? I heard tell they used to cut limbs off without any more pain killer than that." The slow tears continued to ebb and roll, but his voice was steady.

Face gave a slight smile. "I don't have whiskey. But I do have morphine in my pack."

Murdock let out a slow breath. "Morphine sounds great."

"I'll bet it does."

Face pulled away and stood up, dropping the rag into the bucket of water.

"I trust you, Face," Murdock whispered. "Right now, I only trust you. Don' think I could… I don't want…"

"It's okay," Face answered. "I get it."

"Really?"

"Come on. Get up." Face crouched and put his arms under Murdock's. As he pulled, Murdock pushed his back to the wall, both feet on the floor, and braced himself. The gasp of pain was cut off as Murdock dug his teeth into his bottom lip, white against the red and black of new and dried blood.

Holding him steady, Face led him to the sink and turned the water on for him, letting him lean forward on it as he turned the water on. "Wash yourself up. I'll get your clothes. And that morphine."

Murdock propped his good elbow on the edge of the sink and bent forward with a low groan. Awkwardly, he managed to splash water on his face than ran down his neck. He licked water from his hand and bent further forward with a bitten off yelp, trying to get his mouth to the tap. He rinsed his mouth again and again before finally dragging his wet hand over his face and torso as best he could until he reached his waistband. He fumbled for a moment then cursed.

"I..." His voice shook again. "I can't get my pants down with this hand."

"I'll get it," Face said, returning with a syringe of morphine. "Gimme your arm. Will take a few minutes for this to work."

"Mmm hmm."

It took a couple of tries to find the vein. He might've gotten it on the first stick, but Murdock's arm was shaky and Face was _not _a medic. As Face dropped the needle in the trash, he suddenly realized how long he'd been here. It had definitely been longer than ten minutes. Hannibal would come looking for him soon.

He glanced Murdock over quickly. He was out of breath. He was also sweating so much from the pain and exertion that the wash hadn't really done much of anything. He spat again into the sink. "Christ..."

"Lean on the sink," Face ordered.

As Murdock complied, Face splashed a few handfuls of water over his chest and stomach and arms before he draped the clean shirt over his shoulders. Then he reached down to unbutton the front of Murdock's pants. If he felt awkward, he didn't show it. He just pushed them down, and splashed more water, letting it run all over the floor. At the moment, he couldn't care less.

A quick glance up at Murdock's face told him he was still feeling plenty of pain. "You okay?" Face asked. "You let me know before you pass out on me."

Murdock was breathing short and shallow between his teeth and tremors continued to travel through his whole body. But he shook his head. "Thanks. Not gonna... Not woozy or sick. Wish I could get rid of this taste... But then I wish I could scrub myself off in a hot shower for a couple of hours too an' that ain't gonna happen either."

"Do you have mouthwash in your locker?" Face gave a quick glance toward the locker, but hesitated. "You're not gonna fall if I let go, are you?"

Murdock shook his head, which seemed an answer to both questions. "Only toothpaste or gum."

"I think I've got some. I'll get it in a second."

"Do I still smell? It's… I can't tell."

"You don't." Face turned, guiding him back against the wall. "Lean."

The order was simple, and Face used one hand to guide him until his weight was against the wall. Then Face grabbed the clean pants, knelt, and tapped Murdock's foot, lifting it and placing it carefully into the leg of the fatigues. He did the same with the other foot, and drew them up as he stood. Quick fingers fastened them, and Face ducked his head again to see Murdock's eyes.

"How are you feeling? You okay? Feelin' it yet?"

Murdock nodded, eyes sliding closed. "Uh huh."

"Stay still; I'll be right back."

Face stepped back carefully, and crossed the few steps to the lockers. Out the wire meshed window, he saw BA approaching. He didn't look happy - not that he ever did. The bigger problem was that he would probably break the damn door down whereas Hannibal would've knocked when he found it wedged shut. Face cursed under his breath and quickly returned to Murdock, setting the bottle of mouthwash on the sink. Not enough time. He was going to have to come up with some excuse.

"Here," he said quietly. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Mmm hmm. Pain's like... it's a long ways away. So're my toes. Huh. I'm... Oooookay..."

Face crossed to the door and pulled the chair out from under the handle. "Be quiet a minute, okay?"

"Mmm…"

As Face stepped out of the hootch, he ran smack into BA. "What's goin' on?" BA demanded angrily. "What's takin' you so long? Where's Murdock?"

"Murdock's not feeling well."

"What?" BA frowned deeply. "Where is he?"

"He's inside. Hey, can you…?" Face didn't pause long enough to give BA a chance to push his way into the hootch. Instead, he stepped out. "Can you go find Snap and tell him he's gonna fly so that he can start the pre-flight? I'll be right there. I've just gotta get a few things."

Confused, BA was still well able to follow direction. There was only a token argument before he turned and walked away. Face watched him go, then headed back into the hootch. Murdock's head was back against the wall, eyes closed, but he was still upright.

"Still with me, Murdock?"

"Anytime you wanna get me reasonably flat would be good."

Face smiled reassuringly as he grabbed Murdock's arm. "I'm gonna sit you down on the bed, okay?"

With his free hand, he was grabbing the ace bandage he'd already unwrapped from Cruiser's pack. Only a matter of time before Hannibal came looking for him. There would be no making him go away. He guided Murdock to the edge of the bed and sat down behind him, on his knees.

"Shoulder first," Face said. "The longer it goes the worse it'll get."

"Uh huh."

Face took a breath. He'd done this before, but he didn't like it. He placed one hand flat on Murdock's back, behind his shoulder blade, and the other palm flat against the front of his shoulder. He could feel exactly how it was disjointed. "Ready?"

"Need more support. Feels like I'm gonna go over when you wrench it." The morphine had relaxed him, but he was still jittery.

"You're not," Face assured him, pressing closer against his back. "I'm right behind you."

Murdock breathed deep and let it out with a shudder. "Okay."

"On three."

Three slow seconds later, Face pulled, pushed, and shredded ligaments as the joint popped back into place. Murdock nearly screamed.

"That's it," Face said. He grabbed the bandage, hurried now. He had very little time to play the part of the sympathetic nurse. He still needed to tie up some loose ends before he could report back.

"Thanks." Murdock was panting, still holding his ribs with his other arm as he flexed the hand.

Face wrapped the bandage loosely around Murdock's chest, winding it twice, then shifted, putting his legs on either side of him. "Take a breath and hold it." He'd barely given Murdock a chance to recover from the pain in his shoulder and he knew it. But as long as he didn't crack up, Face wanted this over and done with as fast as possible.

"Trust you." Murdock clenched his teeth and held his breath. His eyes were a little glassy from the morphine but he met Face's glance steadily.

It was harder to wrap ribs quickly than to put the shoulder back in place. Part of the problem was that Face had never actually _done _it. Though his own ribs had been broken in every which way, Face had never been on this side of the experience. Unsure of his medical knowledge - but he'd _tried _to tell Murdock that - he pulled the two sides of the wrap, wound it a few more times, and clipped it together, watching Murdock's eyes. It wouldn't be the end of the world if he passed out, but Face wanted to have time to prepare for it if he did.

"You okay?"

Murdock nodded. "I can breathe but it's tight enough." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Good job, Lieutenant."

Face gave a slight smile. "Like I said. I'm not a medic."

There wasn't a whole hell of a lot Face could do for the other injuries. Murdock's nose was broken - he couldn't set that. His fingers could be splinted, but not much else. If they were badly broken - no telling while they were still so swollen - there wasn't much he could do about it. By the time he was through, he could tell the morphine was in full effect. Carefully, he helped him to lay back on the bed.

"Go to sleep. You'll be safe in here." He paused. Dammit... he couldn't leave him like this. And yet he had to. "We're going on the ground. I'll tell Hannibal you're not feeling well, have Snap fly. And I'll take care of Cruiser before I leave. He won't give you any problems."

There was no indication, especially with the level of calm in his voice, just what he meant by that. In any case, Murdock didn't seem to even hear him. He moaned softly as his head hit the pillow and a blanket came up to cover him, warm against the tremors and chill of shock. "Thank you, Face." His voice was almost sing-song as his eyes drifted closed. "Safe with Face…"

"I'll tell Snap to keep an eye on you when he gets back. There's food in my locker. If you don't want to leave, you shouldn't have to. If you do... just be careful. We'll be back in a few days, maybe sooner."

"Going away?"

Face forced a smile as he touched a hand to Murdock's forehead. "I'll leave you the other vial of morphine. Take it if you need it." Jesus, he hated to leave right now. It felt _wrong_ to leave. But if he didn't, they'd have bigger problems than explaining to Hannibal. They'd have to find an explanation for Westman, too.

Murdock seemed to force his eyes open. "Be careful. Right? Don't…" He swallowed and his eyes drifted shut again. "I'll be okay. Don't... do anything... bad. Careful? Promise?" He fought to reach a hand out, grabbing Face's wrist with thumb and forefinger. "Yeah?"

Face forced a smile, stood, and cast a long, lingering look at the pilot before backing away from the bunk. "Just rest, Murdock. You're okay."

He grabbed the discarded clothes, wrapped them and sealed them in a plastic bag from Cruiser's kit, then tossed them under his bunk to be dealt with later. The bag was sealed; he wasn't worried about the smell. Nobody would mess with them until he got back. Right now... he needed to find Cruiser.

*X*X*X*

"Lieutenant!" Hannibal's voice had that impatient tone to it. He didn't sound amused in the least. "Where the hell have you been? Where's Murdock?"

"He's not coming."

The look changed suddenly, from a glare to a bewildered stare. He was caught off guard. "What do you mean he's not coming?" he demanded.

"He's not feeling well. Snap can fly, can't he?"

Snap's eyes widened a little. "Well… uh…"

Hannibal gave a heavy, irritated sigh. "I'll go talk to him."

Face closed his eyes as Hannibal passed, working up the calm, unemotional control that he knew he needed right now. Then he turned. "Hannibal!"

The colonel stopped and looked back. Face stood still, fully facing him, arms at his sides and feet firmly planted. He took a breath. "You told me you trust my judgment," he repeated. "Less than a week ago, you said that. Did you mean it?"

Hannibal stared at him. Then, finally, he crossed back towards the chopper. "Alright," he said firmly. "Let's go."

"One thing first." Face's voice suddenly dropped to a cold, dangerous tone. "Where's Cruiser?"

"Cruiser is injured," Hannibal shot at him, eyes narrowed. "He's not going with us."

"I need to talk to him."

"Not right now you don't." The challenge in Hannibal's voice was clear.

"It'll only take a minute. It's important."

"Tell him when we get back. We're leaving."

Face stopped, still, and looked Hannibal straight in the eye. "Please don't do this."

Hannibal stared back, his gaze steady. "Do what, _Lieutenant_?"

Face took a breath. "You're gonna tell me to get in the chopper. I'm gonna tell you no. We're gonna fight about it in front of all these people and you're gonna have to dress me down and/or write me up and I'm still gonna tell you to go fuck yourself because I _will _talk to Cruiser before I get on that chopper."

Hannibal's gaze didn't waver. Face stared him down. But when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, pleading. "It'll take me five minutes. That's all I'm asking. Please."

Another long pause, and Hannibal's eyes narrowed in a slow, careful scrutiny of the young lieutenant. Finally, he drew in a breath. "The last time I saw him, he was heading for the PX. You may still catch him there. You have five minutes."

"Thank you."

"BA, go with him."

Face had a sneaking suspicion that the tagalong was supposed to keep him in line. Face didn't care. In fact, he could use it to his advantage. After all, he only had five minutes. He found Cruiser within two, standing near the doorway of the PX with a cigarette in his hand and a smile on his face, talking and laughing with someone he obviously knew well.

Face stepped up to the conversation and without waiting for a pause, or for either of them to acknowledge him, he spoke. "Hi," he greeted the unfamiliar Mike Force soldier. "Can I steal him away for a minute? Thanks." A quick gesture towards Cruiser turned into a hold on his throat and Face pushed him back, off balance, leaving BA and the unfamiliar sergeant to keep each other company as he dragged Cruiser around the side of the building. As soon as they'd rounded the corner, Face put Cruiser's back to the wall.

"What the –"

"Don't talk," Face growled. In a flash, Face had a pistol cocked and ready, against Cruiser's temple. "I'm going out on the ground. I'm coming back in five days, if I live that long. If you go anywhere near Murdock in that time, you'd better hope I _don't _live that long. Because if by chance you or any other unwelcome guest goes within five hundred feet of that team room where Murdock is recovering, and if by chance I hear about it?" Face pushed the gun against Cruiser's temple, hard enough to tip his head all the way to the side. "I will bring you right back here and blow your fucking brains all over this wall. Do you understand me?"

He didn't give Cruiser a chance to reply. No answering threat or dangerous challenge. Still holding him by the throat, he threw him hard enough to send him sprawling to the ground. Face didn't look back as he rounded the corner, gestured to BA, and headed back to the chopper.


	32. Chapter Thirty

**CHAPTER THIRTY**

While they'd struck camp, Face had patrolled the perimeter. While they ate, he'd wandered a short way down the hill to the edge of the river. Now it was time to sleep, and he was still down there. "What's the matter with him?" BA demanded, casting an irritated but worried glance down the still form sitting just inside the trees, where it was still safe.

"I don't know," Hannibal admitted. "But I got a real good idea." He was already pulling himself to his feet, taking his CAR-15 with him.

Face didn't look up at the sound of footsteps behind him, though he was acutely aware of them. They were coming from the camp, which meant that they weren't the enemy. He glanced up briefly as Hannibal sat down, and flicked his wrist to toss the leaf he'd been picking apart into the water.

"What's on your mind, kid?"

Face kept his eyes on the leaf as it hit the slow-moving surface of the water and wandered downstream, out of sight. He reached for another one from the nearby bush. "I don't wanna talk about it."

Hannibal reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a half-finished cigar, then searched for his lighter. "Got anything to do with Murdock?"

Face cast a brief glare in his direction as he finally located the lighter in his front pants pocket. "I said I didn't want to talk about it."

"You know, kid," Hannibal paused to light the cigar, "there's a difference between trusting someone and being stupid." He snapped the lighter closed and shoved it back into his pocket. "I trust you. But this is bordering on stupidity. You're on the ground in Cambodia, Lieutenant. If you want me to trust you, you need to be here, now."

Face sighed, but remained quiet.

"I'm already down Cruiser," Hannibal reminded. "I don't need you goin' AWOL on me inside the enemy camp."

"AWOL?" Face shot with a challenging glare.

"If you're not all here, you're of no use to me, Lieutenant."

Face studied him for a moment, then looked away. "I signed the report on the Huey," he offered quietly.

If that wasn't a way to divert the question, Hannibal didn't know what was. "I know. I saw it."

"Jeffries looked at me like I was nuts."

"Nobody in their right mind is going to believe that report. I don't know the first thing about helicopters and I didn't believe it."

"Well, he'll either court martial me or he won't," Face sighed. "I signed my name to the report and I'll stand by it."

"I'm more concerned about when they court martial Snap, to be honest."

"Snap will roll over and play dead. But I won't."

Hannibal looked to him, studying his expression carefully. Finally, he looked away again. "So why did you do it, Face?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Falsify that report."

"That report is true to the best of my –"

"Face," Hannibal interrupted with a very direct look. "Why?"

Face sighed, and tossed another leaf toward the water. This one didn't make it; it landed in the red mud. "Because whatever happened out there, he's still a damn good pilot," he finally said. "He's just…"

Hannibal was quiet for a long moment, considering all of the ways Face might have ended that statement. He was just… different, now. Since the camp. It wasn't anything Hannibal could have put his finger on – tired, re-energized, depressed, anxious. He was all of that and none of it depending on the day. But the risk-taking behavior, the nightmares that woke them all, and that lingering, dark look in his eyes – those things were all very new. He was as damaged as they all were… and probably more so.

But damaged didn't mean dangerous. If his mind was still secure enough, he really was the best pilot Hannibal had flown with. In spite of all of it, Hannibal hadn't lost confidence in him. He wanted him here. He would've brought him along on this drop if he'd had his way. But he also realized that he didn't know what had happened out there at the river. Murdock had crashed – the second time in a week – and this time it hadn't been under enemy fire. It was enough to make anyone question his competence. It seemed enough to worry Face, too, although the lieutenant had yet to give him a direct answer.

"So why isn't he here now?"

Face shook his head. "The crash has nothing to do with it."

"You're sure?"

"What are you getting at, Hannibal?" Face demanded.

Face had started this little diversion. Hannibal intended to see it through, while they were on the subject. "There's a difference between trusting him with all of our lives and not wanting him to lose his rank."

"I trust him," Face said firmly. "He's not here because he's…" He hesitated. Too long. "He wasn't feeling well."

Hannibal wasn't a complete idiot. He knew he was being lied to. He also knew that he'd gotten everything out of the Lieutenant that he was going to get. He'd find out for himself later, from Murdock, all of the details of why he wasn't at the controls. He'd also eventually have to make his own judgment call on the captain's competence. If Face wasn't willing to explain himself, Hannibal wasn't willing to take his word on something that could potentially cost lives.

But right now, he had other problems.

"I need you to stay focused, Face," he ordered. "With Cruiser down, we're all pulling more than our normal share of this."

Face smirked. "You know, most recon teams only have three Americans."

"Yes, but I'm used to working with four. Or five. Or even six."

Face was quiet for a moment, trailing back and forth in the mud with a stick. "You never replaced Boston. Or Bulldog." He glanced up. "Why?"

Hannibal paused, lifting his cigar to his mouth and leaving it there as he leaned forward, arms across his bent knees. "Because I don't think we have enough time left in Vietnam to make it worth it."

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you heard?" Hannibal smiled around the cigar as he glanced at the young lieutenant. "This war is over, kid. We lost."

Face chuckled. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that phrase. It had been widely circulated, repeated more and more lately by the soldiers on every base they visited. "If the war's over, then what the hell are we doing in Cambodia?"

Hannibal stood and brushed himself off. "Think of it as tying up loose ends," he said as he turned away.

He only made it a few steps back toward the camp before Face's voice stopped him. "Hannibal?"

He glanced back. For a long moment, they stared at each other. Then, finally, Face spoke. "Don't worry about Murdock," he said quietly. "I'll take care of him."

"As long as he's safe, I don't worry about him."

"He's safe," Face assured. "For now. Just…" He trailed off and swallowed hard. "Let me take care of him."

*X*X*X*

The mission had been about as successful as Face had expected – they'd found the body of the missing American, conveniently tossed at the side of the road. Why they'd moved him in the first place was anyone's guess. But he had no papers on him. No photos. At least his family would have a body to bury. That was worth something.

A somber crowd was waiting as they touched down in the Nha Trang base and handed off the rigid, lifeless, and mutilated body to the Jeep full of soldiers who would bag it and send it to Saigon to be prepped and shipped home. Face watched them go without emotion, and glanced around for Murdock. He didn't see him, but Cruiser was heading for them. Face turned and walked the other way. Better to avoid him for now. Face really didn't have anything to say to him anyway.

Murdock was awake, eyes open as he lay silent on the bed, staring at the wall in front of him. His gaze shifted to Face as he walked in, then away again. "How are you feeling, flyboy?"

The pilot swallowed noticeably, but didn't look up again. "Snap put in for a transfer."

"That's not what I asked."

Murdock didn't reply.

Face dropped his gear on his bunk, letting the question go for now. "Cruiser been in here?"

"No."

"You been _out _of here?"

"No. Not really."

He'd had four days to recover, and the bruising did look significantly better. That blank stare in his eyes wasn't a good sign, though. As Face sat down on his bunk, he studied him for a long moment. When he didn't even flinch, Face snapped his fingers a few times. "Hey. Anybody home?"

Murdock looked at him, but didn't speak.

Face sighed. "Come on, man. If you're still thinking you're gonna keep this to yourself, you'd better sober up."

"Does it matter? One look at me and Hannibal's gonna know."

"He'll know someone beat the hell out of you. Whatever you want to say beyond that, I'll back you up. One way or the other."

Murdock just stared at him.

"We're moving to another camp in the morning," Face said quietly. "We're going to do our stand down there. You gonna be able to fly?"

A slight nod. "As long as Snap's there."

"Well, they won't process anything that fast and Hannibal's got to sign off on it before they can even start. So he'll be there."

Another nod. And not a sound.

Face sighed. "You gonna pull it together? Or do I need to do all the explaining on this one?"

This time, Murdock shook his head. "I'll explain. It's my problem."

"Alright." He stood again. "When was the last time you ate anything?"


	33. Chapter Thirty One

**CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE**

The makeshift bar in camp A-143 was empty but for the table of two sergeants in the corner. It had seemed the safest place to go. Murdock was missing - probably in the back of his chopper if Face had to guess. With an M-16. He hadn't left the damn thing since they'd arrived in the camp almost a week ago, except to get food and water. Face had barely seen him. He felt safe there, for whatever reason. It didn't make much sense to Face, given that he'd been attacked there once. But Face had no inclination whatsoever to go pull him out of his comfort zone.

Face hadn't seen Hannibal lately. Or BA. They were around somewhere. Neither of them had said much at all about Murdock's damaged health, though BA had refused to leave Nha Trang with the team. He'd joined them a few days later. When he did, his knuckles were split. None of them said a word.

With one hand on the glass of whiskey in front of him, he stared at the worn wood on the top of the bar, tracing the outlines of Green Beret patches that their soldiers had carved into the wood. He recognized several, and a few of the names, too. He wondered how many of the soldiers who'd sat where he was now were still alive.

The door opened, and Face's eyes shifted immediately to the mirror on the back of the bar, checking to see who it was. He'd somehow felt that it was Cruiser before he saw him – a sense of foreboding and fury in equal amounts. He turned his head, hiding his eyes with his hand. He'd been avoiding Cruiser for over a week now, and with reason. His anger still hadn't quite died down.

He still didn't quite know what to say to him. Logic told him that he should at least attempt a truce - sooner or later Cruiser's arm would heal and then they would be on the ground together. If they didn't have this worked out by then, there would be big problems. Not to mention the fact that Hannibal was already starting to press - in his very unassuming way - as to what the hell was going on between the two of them. Whatever he knew about Murdock, it had nothing to do with Cruiser. Face didn't have words for him, either.

Cruiser walked around the empty bar to the liquor supply, grabbed a bottle of vodka and tonic from the shelf. Face watched him carefully, but kept his head down, eyes hooded. It was the first time he'd been alone with Cruiser since… that. The first time since Cruiser had walked into the room at the exact moment he shouldn't have. And the first time since Murdock had been beat to hell for a rumor that no one but Cruiser could have started. Face kept his anger in check, along with all of the other emotions that flickered through his mind.

Cruiser grabbed a glass and stalled for a moment before pouring himself a shot and throwing it back. He poured another in preparation. "There's a back door out of this place, you know."

Face took a sip of his drink, set it down carefully, and raised his head to look Cruiser straight in the eye. "Fuck you."

Cruiser smirked at the challenge in the tone and the stare. "What, flyboy not up to the task lately?" He threw back a second shot and slammed the glass back down.

Face stared hard at him, but didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Sitting up a little straighter, he reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. He could feel Cruiser's eyes on him as he lit one, and set the pack on the bar.

"I hear you had a successful mission."

Face took a deep drag off his cigarette and turned his head away a little as he blew smoke into the air. "We did," he answered flatly.

"Everybody alright?"

"Everyone's fine."

"Even Murdock?"

Face shot a warning glare at Cruiser. "He's part of 'everyone' isn't he?"

"I don't know." Cruiser poured another drink. "He's kind of been to himself lately."

"I can't imagine why."

"I hear he got into a fight."

Face bit his tongue so hard it bled.

Cruiser sighed, and raised his drink again. "Ah, well." He studied the clear liquid for a moment before sipping it slowly. "Hope he learns to be a little more careful."

Face was gripping his glass so hard he was afraid it might shatter. He released his grip and put his hands flat on the bar top. "Careful of what?" he demanded, his voice ice cold. Finally, he looked up and stared Cruiser in the eye. "People like you?"

Cruiser stared back, and smirked a little. "The world is full of people like me, Face," he said, his biting tone laced with hatred. "Especially around here." Face could see it in his eyes: anger and hateful rejection, arrogance and disapproval. Face heard his words by the tone before he ever even had a chance to process them. "You should probably be more careful, too. Special Forces ain't a nice place for fags."

Face's eyes blazed with anger, and he fought back the urge to rip Cruiser's throat out right then and there. "Push me, Cruiser," he said low, dangerously. "Go ahead. See what happens." _Just give me an excuse, you bastard…_

Cruiser raised an eyebrow, innocently. "You want to discuss this like ladies over some tea and crumpets?"

Pulling his anger under control, Face glared hard at him for a moment, then lowered his eyes away as he brought the cigarette to his lips again. "I've got nothing to say to you."

Cruiser chuckled. "The way you run every time I come around says plenty."

After a long drag, Face reached for the bottle and carefully refilled his glass. He could feel his blood pressure rise, feel his pulse in his head. With forced effort, he smiled pleasantly as he raised his glass in a gesture of a toast. "Here's to keeping your face from being rearranged." He drank.

Cruiser's eyes narrowed, but he raised his glass. "And assholes that don't say 'slippery when wet'."

Face paused briefly, but let it pass. He set the glass back down on the bar top a little more firmly than strictly necessary. No escaping the conversation. Might as well get it over with. He took another calming drag on his cigarette. "So what's the plan, Cruiser?" He sat back slightly as he exhaled, glaring across the bar at his opponent. "'Cause you know, sooner or later, you're going to have to get the fuck over it."

Cruiser studied the liquor as he poured again. "Yeah, but the problem is… can the rest of the crews get over it?" He set the bottle back down. "They can get a little uptight about things like this - some might even say unforgiving." He met Face's eyes towards the end in a challenge.

Face didn't rise to it. His stare remained cold and impassive, unreadable. "If that's your way of trying to establish blackmailing procedures, you've got another thing coming."

Cruiser chuckled. "I forgot. You're the resident expert at lying, cheating, and stealing." He smirked. "Hearts included."

Face smiled - it was so practiced, it was perfect. Lying, cheating, and stealing weren't the only things he was good at. Ultimately, they were only symptoms of the driving force that kept him motivated: he was accustomed to getting what he wanted.

Right now, he wanted a confession. It wasn't that he _needed_ one; he knew damn well that Cruiser was the one who'd started the rumors. He was the only one who could've. He was the one who was ultimately responsible for what had happened to Murdock. But something inside of Face – some twisted sense of right and wrong – needed to hear it out of his own mouth. Needed to know that he recognized the cause and effect. _He _was the one who'd started this; not Face.

Even in spite of the anger that simmered just beneath the surface, Face spoke with a carefree tone and complete confidence. "And what are you the resident expert on, Cruiser?"

"Right now?" He sipped his drink. "The local undercover brothers."

Face's smile remained in place as he took a drink himself. "Not that much cover. Not anymore. You made sure of that back in Nha Trang."

"Oh?" Cruiser raised a brow. "What happened to 'this isn't what it looks like'?"

Face shrugged, casually. "It wasn't," he said smoothly. He was probably going to have to give Cruiser that battle if he wanted to win the war. He wanted the confession more than he wanted the opportunity to clarify what Cruiser had _not _seen. Besides, telling him what it was not would only lead to questions of what it _was_. And Face would be damned if he let it get that far.

Besides, whether it was what it looked like or not, that was really besides the fact in the end. "That didn't stop you from sharing your... expertise," Face smiled, inviting the defense.

"Murdock's known in Nha Trang by more than just me for being queer." He finished his drink and poured again. If he kept it up, he was going to be drunk long before Face, who had no intention of drinking more than his share for the night. As Cruiser looked up, he matched Face's smile. "Maybe you should go peddle your accusations in that direction."

Face immediately knew, by the smile and the smooth response, that Cruiser was well aware of what he was after. Face was neither surprised (Cruiser wasn't stupid) nor intimidated (he enjoyed a challenge every now and then). It just meant that Face would have to take the long way around. He knew for a fact that he was better at word games than Cruiser. He would slip up eventually, even if he _hadn't _been hitting the bottle so hard.

"Yeah, funny thing, that." Face gave a slight, humorless chuckle. "Actually, come to think of it, it was _me_ who started that whole strain of rumors." He paused for a drink. The conversational tone was deceptive. Every muscle in Face's entire body was tensed. He was careful not to betray that to Cruiser. "Of course, I was drunk off my ass at the time. And it was an argument between me and Murdock; other people just happened to overhear. I'd certainly never _intentionally _stab a member of my own team in the back. After all, guys have been killed over shit like that."

"Too bad, too. There are unfortunate accidents every day." Cruiser swirled the drink in his glass. "But who knows, Lieutenant. Clearing out the faggots might even get you promoted." He sipped his drink with a smirk. "Do what you gotta do to get those bars, LT. I won't tell."

Face smiled back. "What would you know about it, _Sergeant_?"

Cruiser chuckled. "Not a damn thing."

Face eyed him for a moment, then paused for a slow drag on his cigarette. "Of course, not only was I drunk when I said that shit," he looked up, back at Cruiser, "I was also _wrong_."

Cruiser's eyes flashed as his smile fell. "Meaning what, exactly?"

Face felt a flicker of satisfaction. Yes, he was much better at this game than Cruiser was. Cruiser couldn't even hold a smile. Face shrugged, comfortably. "Just a statement of fact, plain and simple."

The emotions played across Cruiser's eyes, revealing his hand whether he liked it or not. The anger and indignation. _He _was not the liar here. He believed that with every fiber of his being. "Funny how deceiving it can be to witness something with your own eyes, isn't it, Face?"

Face chuckled, ignoring the challenging tone. "Yeah, well, I suppose that's the time to keep your mouth shut until you can make sure you've got your facts straight. 'Cause it sure would be awkward to be professing to be an expert on something that you really don't know anything about except what your," he paused for a smile, "deceiving eyes told you." He shook his head as he finished the cigarette, leaning forward to stub it out in the ashtray. "Sure am glad I've never been in _that _situation."

Cruiser's jaw was set in anger. Face could practically hear his thoughts. Who did he think he was, acting like it was all just a big misunderstanding! "Yeah, I'm sure there's at least a dozen reasons for two guys to be lip-locked and dry humping."

Face shrugged, smiled again. "Well, at least one or two." He chuckled. "But hey, what do I know? You're the expert."

Cruiser growled at the condescending tone that dripped sweetly with passive aggression. But he should've known better than to try and meet Face on _his _playing field. "Yeah, well being the resident expert, I can tell you there's only one explanation: a couple fairies getting so hot and bothered for each other that they forgot to lock the fucking door." He threw back the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down on the counter, looking back up at Face with a wicked smirk. "Oops. Small details."

"That's an interesting theory."

Cruiser's control over his tone and smile snapped. "Fuck you, Peck." He leaned in close to Face, his voice low and threatening. "Theory my ass. I walked in there and you two were sporting more wood than Pinocchio!"

Face didn't flinch, didn't answer. Cruiser was riled, and he'd work himself into his own trap if Face let him. He didn't have to say a damn thing. "Hmm." He shrugged.

"And ain't it funny how half the base on Nha Trang had that same fuckin' theory long before I got there."

"I thought we already got past that part of the conversation, Cruiser," Face said calmly. "They have that theory because of something I said that was dead wrong. People heard it. Rumors spread. But that was a long time ago already. Seems odd that they would suddenly bring it up out of the blue."

"Yeah?" Cruiser took a shot of straight vodka. "Well, maybe they have reason to believe the rumor is true this time around."

"This time?" Face smiled. _Gotcha… _"That almost sounds like a confession to me, Cruiser."

Cruiser's eyes narrowed and he watched Face. He didn't confirm it, but he didn't deny it either.

Face held his stare for a long moment, then lowered his eyes to stare at the amber liquid in his glass, swirling it around. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and reflective, unassuming. "You know what I don't get, Cruiser?" He paused for a moment, then looked back up. Suddenly, he felt all of the anger come back, all at once. He hid it under a calm and measured tone, but his hands were balling into fists on top of the bar as he spoke. "If you were going to sabotage the team, why the hell didn't you turn on _me_? Why Murdock? It was just as much my fault if not more. And you know that. There's no doubt in my mind that you know that. So why?"

"Why not?" Cruiser disregarded an actual explanation, as if it didn't matter anyway.

To Face, it mattered a great deal. The look in his eyes turned wicked as a smirk crept across his lips. Time to press a few buttons. "Oh, come on, Cruiser. Was it really just the jealousy?" He leaned forward on his arms, his voice dripping sweetness and patronizing. "He stole me away for one night. You couldn't handle that?" The "poor baby" wasn't spoken, but the tone said it all.

Cruiser's jaw set, and his eyes blazed at the insinuation. "Yeah Face, I'm so attached to you. The fact you ditched me to fuck a flyboy ate at me so much that in order to get back at you," he paused for a moment and threw back yet another shot, slamming the glass down, "I sold him out so you could watch him suffer and know that it was all yourfault."

Sarcastic or not, it was all Face needed to hear. "That's about what I thought."

Cruiser didn't know Face _could _move as fast as he did in that moment. Using the chairs in a path he had clearly rehearsed in his mind before he moved, he vaulted over the bar and landed right beside Cruiser. Before Cruiser could defend, attack, or even comprehend what had just happened, Face had him by the neck. He spun him, expertly wretched his uninjured arm behind him, and threw him face down on the bar, spilling the whiskey that Face had been cradling just moments before and crushing his hurt arm under his weight.

Across the room, the only other two soldiers in the room stood from their table. Face looked up, and caught their gaze. "Stay out of it!" he yelled at them.  
Eyes narrowed, he waited to see what they would do. The two men exchanged glances, and then looked back at him. "Hey, man, just stay calm," one of them said smoothly.  
"I'm very calm," Face answered darkly. Cruiser chose that moment to struggle, and Face looked down as he pushed him hard against the bar, pulling his arm back even further. "And I'm very calmly gonna break your fuckin' arm if you give me a reason to. Otherwise, we're just gonna have a little talk."

Cruiser grimaced under the weight and pain in his arm. "Fuck you!"

Face grabbed his hair with his free hand and hit his head on the bar again. "No, I'm gonna talk," Face informed roughly. "You're gonna listen."

"I don't wanna hear a goddamn thing you have to say, you fuckin' faggot."

"See, that's the problem, Cruiser. We gotta work on your communication skills. Half of a conversation is listening."

Cruiser growled again. Ignoring him, Face looked back up at the men. "Do you mind? This is a private conversation."

The men hesitated for a long moment, then glanced at each other and sat back down at the table, keeping one eye on the two figures at the bar as they uneasily returned to their drinks.

Face leaned down, lowering his voice to a level only Cruiser could hear. "I'm gonna say this once. If anything – and I do mean _anything_ – like that ever happens to Murdock again? I will personally take it out of your hide!"

"What're you gonna do, Face?" Cruiser snarled. "Fuck me?"

"If I say yes, what're you gonna do about it?" Face growled back. "Cry rape?"

Cruiser snarled. "That what gets you off, Lieutenant?"

Face ignored him. "If he's hurt again, I don't care if it was your fault or not. I'll be more than willing to go to jail just to have it out with you. Are we clear?"

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Cruiser spat, fighting for a position that would take the pressure off of his hurt arm. Face didn't let him move. "One last practice run before you line up for the prison girls."

Face grabbed the back of his neck, grinding his cheek into the spilled whiskey from the glass he'd left on the counter. "Don't push me, Cruiser. If it wasn't for Murdock's forgiving nature –" for some reason, Face heard contempt in that remark "- you'd already be face down on the floor. You mind your own business and you watch your mouth. And we'll get along just fine."

"I'd be more concerned with his mouth if I were you. Sucking cock is a dangerous game."

"No, Cruiser. I _trust _his mouth. It's _yours_ I worry about."

He stood suddenly, letting the pressure off, and grabbed Cruiser's shirt, shoving him back to a safe distance. He'd barely regained his balance before he turned back to Face, eyes blazing in vicious anger. "You _should _be worried, Face. Next time, they might just finish him off."

Face glared at him. "Well, in that case, you'd better hope to God that they take me out too."

Cruiser regained his stance and took a step forward, his fist clenching at his side. "Oh, I'll make sure they do. Seems your name has stayed out of it so far –"

"Don't do me any favors," Face snapped, cutting him off.

Cruiser continued, undeterred. "But next time maybe it'll be different." His voice lowered to a venomous, hate-filled threat, laced with liquor and slurred with the inability to even think straight. "I hope to God they do come after you. I hope they hold you down and make you watch while someone plows flyboy, and I hope they put a bullet in both of you."

Face could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage. But if Cruiser was looking for a violent, reactive response, he didn't get it. "You'd also better hope to God that Hannibal doesn't ever hear you say anything like that."

"Oh, I'm sure the colonel would be interested in a lot of what I have to say."

"He probably would. Why don't you go find out?" Face took a step forward, noting the effort it took to keep his breathing slow and measured. "Tell him why his pilot couldn't fly the other day. Tell him where the bruises came from. And while you're at it... tell him why we can't go back to Nha Trang. I'm sure he's _dying_ to know."

"You seem awful sure that he'll turn an understanding ear to your side of things. Are you fucking him too?"

Face didn't think. The words had barely registered when he moved, two steps before he grabbed Cruiser's shirt. He could've struck first. Instead, he let Cruiser have the first punch. It would be the last one he'd get. With one arm still injured, he should've known better than to pick this fight. Face's arm was already pulled back when the blow landed on his cheek. The flash of pain opened the floodgates for the adrenaline. Pulse pounding in his ears, Face didn't waste time with threats and harmless blows and taunting. He went straight for Cruiser's nose with enough force to put his fist right through it. He felt it pop, and his half-healed knuckles split again from the force.

The pain - and the smell of blood - awakened the killer in him that rested just beneath the calm exterior of the well-disciplined soldier. The only thing that kept him from striking again was the awareness that he was staring into the eyes of an American, and the calm understanding that if he didn't stop, he would kill him. With one hand still holding his shirt, Face threw him to the floor before he even realized he was bleeding.

The two men stood up again, but Face put his back to them, watching as Cruiser landed hard on his back. He hadn't even had the chance to break his fall. Blood was pouring from his nose as he grabbed the edge of the bar to try and pull himself back to his feet, never taking his eyes off of Face. His nose was shattered – Face could've told that even if he hadn't felt it break – but he was still ready to fight.

Face pulled a fist back behind him slightly, at his side, and slid his right foot back a little, ready for him. _Come on, you bastard…_ He could feel the blood seeping from his knuckles, could see it draining from Cruiser's nose. It made something inside of him - something dark and dangerous - burn like wildfire, reckless and out of control. All of the anger he'd been pushing down for days came back in a rush, mixing and mingling with the adrenaline throbbing in his veins.

He'd been avoiding Cruiser, trying to talk himself into being calm and reasonable when he finally had to talk to him. They would still have to work together, after all. But those thoughts seemed far away now. Worthless. He wouldn't work with this man again. He wouldn't trust him ever again. Later, he would deal with the semantics of how that was supposed to work. But right now, he wasn't the least bit concerned about preserving the unity of the team.

Cruiser took one look at his ready stance, and hesitated. Bleeding, his arm already injured, he wasn't quite stupid enough to think he could take on the anger in Face's eyes. Even if he _was _drunk.

"Just stay out of my way, Cruiser," Face growled, taking a step back. "And stay the fuck away from Murdock. I meant what I said about goin' to jail. It's _very _worth it to me right now."

Cruiser raised one hand to catch some of the blood that was gushing from his nose. There was no point in trying to wipe it away. Face watched him for a moment to make sure he wasn't going to try anything, then backed away a few steps and turned to walk away. His eyes caught those of the two men who'd stopped advancing and were just staring at him, not sure what to think. Face didn't address them, just poured one last shot of whiskey and tipped it up.

"The priests teach all you altar boys how to move down a line giving blow? Or did you learn that from Thanh Dai?"

Face slammed the glass down so hard it shattered in his hand. In one smooth movement, he turned and lunged. He had Cruiser on his back on the floor in a flash. By the time the two men pulled him off, Cruiser's face was a mess of blood and broken bone. It didn't take long. Even with a man on either side, Face's adrenaline gave him unrequited strength to break their grip, then turn and attack. Startled, they couldn't respond fast enough to avoid the first blows.

An instant later, Face was heading into the bottles on the back counter. Instinctively, he put his hands out to catch himself and they shattered under his weight, piercing his palms. He felt the men grab his shoulders. Knowing when to quit – when he was beaten – he let himself go limp, let them throw him against the bar. He didn't much care what they did to him. His point had been made.

"Hey!" He almost didn't recognize the voice. "Get your hands off him and take two steps back. Right now!"

With his face turned to the back of the bar, he couldn't see Hannibal. But he knew it was him. That authoritative voice was unmistakable.

"Who the hell are you?" one of the soldiers demanded.

"Hannibal Smith. _Colonel_ Hannibal Smith. That man you have pinned to the bar is my lieutenant. So as I said, let him go!"

The men released him, and he stood up straight. He could feel the blood running from his palms and dripping off the tips of his fingers, and his head rang from hitting the bar so hard. But he felt no pain.

Hannibal came closer – close enough to see the pins on their lapels. "I should have you both arrested for assaulting a superior officer! Do you have any idea the –"

"No," Face interrupted, raising his bloody hand to wipe the flow that was draining from his nose. It only made a smeared mess. Hannibal watched him carefully, waiting for an explanation. "I started it."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed, but he didn't address Face. Instead, he turned his attention back to the two sergeants. "You two are dismissed," he ordered. "Get the hell out of here."

Reluctantly, the men left, with only lingering angry glances at Face. He hadn't done either of them much damage. He'd been too blinded by fury to actually aim when he'd hit them. Only once they'd gone did Hannibal turn back to him. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

Face didn't answer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cruiser clumsily pushing himself up. He knocked into things, grabbed onto broken glass, it didn't seem to matter. Face was surprised he was still conscious. As his head rose over the top of the bar, Hannibal's eyes widened noticeably.

"What the hell happened!" he yelled. The soldiers on the other side of the camp probably could've heard him. "Have you two lost your fucking minds!"

Face's jaw set, but he didn't speak. His hands were still shaking at his sides, balled into fists.

As Cruiser looked up at Hannibal, Face glanced at him. For the first time, Face had a chance to see the damage he'd done with clear vision. Good God…

Cruiser tried to move his jaw, then reached up and gripped it in pain. His hand was covered almost instantly in blood from his nose. Face took an unsteady breath in, realizing it was up to him to answer. "It was –"

"Nothing," Cruiser interrupted. He let out a cry of pain with the word. It was the probably the last thing he would be saying for a long time. His jaw was clearly broken. Badly.

"That's nothing?" Hannibal demanded, glaring at Face. He pointed at the blood draining from Cruiser's nose and mouth. "You call that nothing!"

"Personal matter," Face clarified through gritted teeth.

Hannibal growled. "Explain to me what personal matter could be so important that the two of you would beat each other to hell over it!"

Face suddenly realized he was draining blood from his nose as well as what was dripping from his hands. He didn't answer.

Hannibal clenched his fists and lowered his head, regaining his composure. "Cruiser, get to the dispensary," he ordered.

Cruiser moved slowly around the bar and through the room. Then he was out the door, leaving Hannibal and Face to stare at each other.

"You seem relatively unharmed," Hannibal pointed out, his voice cold.

"He had the first punch," Face whispered back. "That's all I gave him."

"Why?" Hannibal demanded. He didn't even try to mask the anger in his tone.

Setting his jaw, Face stared back at him, not answering.

Finally, Hannibal took a step forward. Face instinctively moved to attention. "If he – or _anyone _from this camp - files charges, Lieutenant? You are going to jail. And if that happens, every little black spot on your record – every T that's not crossed and every I that's not dotted – comes right back. How many years do you think you'll be spending in military prison, boy?"

Face stood still, eyes out of focus as he stared straight ahead, unseeing. He didn't answer. He didn't figure that Hannibal needed an answer.

"And if he doesn't?" Hannibal continued in a low growl. "This is the _second_ time you've pulled this shit, Lieutenant. The second time you have gotten into a fistfight with another member of this team!" He stopped just on the other side of the bar and lowered his voice into a forced calm. "If it happens again – I don't care what the reason – you will not only be off of this team, but I will personally see to it you go to jail. I'll file the goddamn charges myself."

Face swallowed, jaw set.

"I will _not_ have this kind of bullshit on my team," Hannibal hissed at him. "I will _not _have a loose cannon under my command. Do I make myself _perfectly _clear?"

"Yes, sir," Face whispered.

Without another word, the colonel turned and stormed out the door of the club, leaving Face standing alone, still dripping blood from his hands and nose.


	34. Chapter Thirty Two

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**

"Jesus! Face what happened to you?" Murdock was on his feet instantly.

"What happened?" BA echoed, rising to meet him. "Who did this to you!"

"It's nothing," Face muttered.

"Nothing!" BA cried. "It sure looks like something! Looks like someone beat you up, man."

Face stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Yeah, you know what?" He turned and looked at BA, keeping his expression the perfect picture of calm. "Can you go run over to the dispensary and get me some bandages?"

BA frowned. "You should go to the dispensary. Have Cruiser look at your hands. You bleedin' everywhere!"

"Please?" Face tried again. "I just… need a couple bandages."

With a deep frown and no small amount of reluctance, BA turned to the door. "Say hello to Cruiser for me while you're over there," Face called as he exited the room.

As the door closed again, Face turned and grabbed the gallon bottle of water on the floor. "Face…" Murdock started hesitantly. "Why is Cruiser in the dispensary?"

"He's a medic," Face answered. "Where else would he be?"

Face took the bottle outside, grabbing Cruiser's medical bag along the way. If BA came back at all – and that would be doubtful once he saw Cruiser – it would still be much faster to use the supplies on-hand than wait for more.

Murdock followed, and stood in the doorway. "Face. _Why_ is Cruiser in the dispensary?"

Face sat down on the last step and opened the bottle. Careful not to waste it, he rinsed his free hand, revealing the shards of glass still imbedded in his palm. He opened the bag on his other side and fumbled for a pair of tweezers. It didn't take him long to find them. But with his hand shaking from residual adrenaline and – increasingly – blood loss, they didn't do him much good.

Murdock sighed as he sat down beside him and took the tweezers. As he took Face's other hand, the lieutenant let out a cry of pain that made Murdock pull back. "Jesus, Face." He was more careful this time. His eyes widened as he looked at the damage. "What the hell did you do?" he cried, appalled. "You broke your fucking hand!"

"Shut up, Murdock."

Murdock stared at him for a long moment. "You need to go to the –"

Face pulled his hand back. "I said shut the fuck up!"

He reached for the tweezers, but Murdock held them out of his reach. Face glared daggers at him. "Give me the goddamn tweezers," he growled.

"Give me your hand," Murdock answered. The tone was nothing short of an order.

Face glared hard at him, but finally complied. For a moment, Murdock worked carefully at cleaning the cuts, and assessing the damage. At least one of the bones between his knuckles and wrist was definitely broken. And his knuckles were a mess.

Murdock set the tweezers aside as he cleared the glass away and reached for the water again. "Look, Face, maybe it's time we need to –"

"Don't," Face interrupted.

"Don't what?"

"We're not going to talk about this, Murdock."

He kept his eyes down, focusing on his hands as Murdock cleaned up the blood. After a moment, Murdock gave his hand back and reached for the sealed, sterile bandages. "I'm sorry," he finally said.

Face sighed. "Murdock, don't."

"Well, I am." He hesitated, focusing his attention on the package as he slowly opened it, stalling while Face finished washing away the last few shards of glass. "I'm sorry about what happened."

Face finally laughed briefly, cynically. "Murdock, whatever it is you think you did, you paid for it in blood. You have nothing to be sorry for. And even if you did, I'm not interested in your apologies. I told you, I don't want to talk about it."

Murdock growled audibly. "God damn it, Face, don't you _dare _shut me out!"

Face looked up, startled by the tone.

Murdock barely paused, glaring hard at him. "You're right, I _did _pay for it in blood. To say nothing of my reputation and every ounce of… of _dignity _that I had. And you're going to hear me out! You owe me at least that, damn you."

Face stared at him for a long moment, then reached for the bandage. Murdock held it away, still glaring at him. Face reached for the bag, stubbornly, but there were no more bandages in there. Finally, he set his jaw and stared at Murdock. "So talk," he snapped at him.

"You first." Murdock reached for his hand again.

Face gave it, but continued to glare. "What do you want me to say, Murdock?"

"What do I want you to say?" Murdock repeated incredulously. "You're serious?"

Face glared at him.

"I hardly know what the hell I'm thinking and you want me to tell you what to say?"

Fuck, his hand hurt. He lowered his eyes to his hand as Murdock started to wrap the bandage.

"Sorry Face. You're gon' have to tell me what you were thinking and not what I want to hear."

"Forget it," Face answered automatically. His tone left no room for reconsideration. He'd said he wasn't going to talk about this, and he meant it. If Murdock had something to say, he'd listen. But that was as far as this was going to go.

"If I could forget it, I wouldn't need to talk to you about it, now would I, Face?" His jaw was screwed shut as he spoke, struggling to maintain control. His grip on Faces hand tightened and Face cried out, pulling his hand away.

"What the _fuck_, Murdock!"

"Why, Face?" he demanded, letting him have his hand, and the bandages he reached for. "What were you thinking? And why the hell can't you tell me?"

"Fuck this," Face growled. "I'm not your fucking counselor. And I sure as hell don't need you to be mine."

Murdock didn't say a word as Face turned and walked away from the hootch, taking the bandage with him to finish wrapping his hand. He had no idea where he was going, but he had to get away from there.

*X*X*X*

Hannibal was hard to find. He was hiding under the guard tower - out of sight of those above and far enough away from the hootches that nobody would accidentally stumble on him. Murdock stood for a long moment, far enough away that he wouldn't be noticed yet. The colonel was sitting on the ground, head in his hands. It was not a pose Murdock was used to seeing him in. All of the confidence and energy that normally radiated from him was distinctly missing. He looked vulnerable, small, and defeated – three words Murdock had never imagined he would associate with Hannibal.

It had to be about him. About his mind, all the shit that had happened recently. Shit… what _had _happened? It was hard to tell how much of it was a dream and how much was reality. He'd dreamed the other night about crashing a helicopter into the Bong Son River…

His heart was starting to pound. Hands clenched, he closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them, he would be real. Things would be… damn, how should things be? Slowly, he opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. Hannibal was still holding his head in his hands, looking... beaten. Shit. He had to get it together, hold on, stick with his unit.

He could feel laugher building. Part of him wanted to let it out and ride it away to wherever it took him. Part of him was horrified at the fact that he could even think of laughing at a time like this. This wasn't fun, or right. Hell, neither was he.

Face. He'd just finished talking to him. Something wasn't right there. What had happened to Face? What had happened to Hannibal? Murdock was so confused, he wasn't even sure of his own surroundings, much less what they meant. Feeling exposed and in desperate need of answers, he moved in and sat down next to Hannibal.

There was no response. Murdock licked his lips to bring moisture back to his mouth, and willed his heartbeat to slow down. "Hannibal?" He hated how hesitant his voice sounded.

Hannibal sighed deeply. It took him a few long moments to come up with an answer. Everything about him screamed that he wanted to be left alone. "What can I do for you, Captain?"

Murdock keep his eyes focused on the ground at his feet, not willing to look at the man beside him for fear that he might not be able handle what he saw in Hannibal's eyes. He swallowed hard, trying to grab the pieces and fit them together in some way that made sense. "I just wanted…" He stopped and shook his head, trying to clear it. He was so close to gone…

"What happened, Colonel?"

Hannibal sighed again and lowered his hands, sitting back a little. He hesitated a long moment before he answered. "I should be asking you that," he replied quietly, unthreatening.

"Yeah, probably."

Murdock refused to look up. If Hannibal was going to ask, he was going to have to make it more direct than that. He wanted to wait, wanted to give him a chance to. He wanted to just keep his mouth shut and wait but he couldn't. He was too close…

"What did Face do to Cruiser?"

Hannibal sighed, and hesitated for a long moment before replying. "They had an altercation in the club. I don't know what it was about."

Murdock licked his lips. He had a feeling he knew what it was about.

"They're sending Cruiser to Da Nang. And if I had to guess, they'll be sending him to Japan from there. Or possibly home. I don't know."

Murdock wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them in tight to his chest as if to protect himself from some unknown attack. "Transported to Japan," he repeated softly. He felt sick. "Shit, that's… bad."

Hannibal was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he took a deep breath. "Can I ask you something, Murdock?"

"Shoot, Colonel," Murdock answered softly, reluctantly.

"Why did he go after Cruiser, Murdock?" Hannibal glanced at him, and was quiet for a long time. "Please tell me that this didn't all start in my own goddamn team."

It was a genuine, heartfelt plea, and Murdock winced as he heard it. "Shock" probably did not begin to describe what Hannibal had felt, to discover that Face had turned on a member of his own team. Murdock could hardly believe it, and he knew the reasons why.

HM swallowed what was left of his tattered pride and glanced at Hannibal, facing his piercing blue eyes like a man facing a firing squad. "I'm sorry," he whispered. It was easier to imagine someone else was saying it...

Hannibal watched him for a long moment, then turned his head away with a deep sigh and a mutter under his breath that sounded something like "Shit." He put a hand through his hair again, and clenched his fist, keeping it there. "This is not how it was supposed to end."

"End?"

Hannibal sighed deeply, and dropped his hand again, shaking his head. "Look, I don't know what you did, or didn't do, and whose fault anything was. When it comes right down to it, it really doesn't matter. But the integrity of this team is..."

He trailed off, shaking his head. Murdock was struggling to breathe. He had sabotaged the integrity of the team. He just couldn't leave it the fuck alone. He might be more than half crazy, but he was still a soldier. Or maybe not. Maybe none of this was real. Maybe he was just a bird sitting on a wire. Either way, it didn't matter much anymore, did it?

After a long hesitation, Hannibal pulled himself up to his feet. Murdock jumped up so fast beside him, he nearly lost his footing. "Of course, Colonel. I understand." It was his best Army voice – flat, disinterested, and confident. Everything he wasn't. "Thank you for talking to me."

Hannibal gave a small smile. "Anytime, Murdock."

Taking a deep breath, he turned away. As he walked further and further from Hannibal, he felt like he was getting smaller… further away… watching himself as he faded off towards the horizon. It was the end. He'd brought about the end of the team.


	35. Chapter Thirty Three

**CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE**

Face was up on the roof of the hootch again. It was the one place where he could hear if anyone was looking for him, but no one would actually him unless he wanted to be found. Well, no one except Murdock who - by way of previous success in finding him up here - had actually thought to look. Face turned his head as Murdock hoisted himself up onto the reinforced corrugated tin, but didn't say anything.

With one arm under his head, his bandaged hand on his chest, Face turned his head back to stare up at the sky with distant, unfocused eyes. The stars seemed to swirl when he did that. It was almost enough to make him dizzy.

"Mind the company?" Murdock asked as he lay down next to Face, a couple of feet between them. It wasn't really a question. He was clearly making himself comfortable, one way or another.

"Constellations are kinda different over here," Murdock said softly. "But when it's calm and peaceful like this, it still feels like layin' out in the fields back home. Staring at the stars."

Face was quiet for a long moment. Calm and peaceful was a rare treat. He wasn't sure when the last time was that they were far enough away that they couldn't hear some camp getting shelled. Or, worse, their own. "I could never see the stars in LA," he said quietly. "At least not like this. Between the lights and the pollution... and just not having any place to go..."

"You ever see any Van Gogh paintings? He did this one of the night sky where all the stars burn and blaze and spiral like Catherine wheels. He was crazy, but bein' crazy helped him see through things, y'know?"

There was something wrong with him. Face could hear it in his voice. He couldn't pinpoint what it was, but something was clearly off.

"Maybe you wanna find yourself some place... quiet. When you get back."

Face was quiet for a long moment, considering that. At long length, he sighed. "I'm never going back to LA."

"How come?"

Face shook his head slightly. "There's nothing there for me. Just memories. A person I don't even remember anymore."

He heard the words coming out of his mouth, and knew he should swallow them. He didn't talk about this. He never talked about this. It was dangerous, and foolish, and pointless. But at the moment, he was too tired to watch his words. And for some strange, unidentifiable reason, he simply didn't want to clamp his jaw shut and revert to safe silence. Maybe he was just too damn tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of arguing. Tired of trying to be so strong when it was perfectly evident that he wasn't. What did he have to hide, at this point? What did he even care to hide?

"I don't think I can go back home," Murdock said quietly. "I'm nothing like the guy who left. I don't... I can't even explain the shit that's happened to me but I can't pretend it didn't. Plus it's not like there's anyone waiting for me."

Face didn't answer.

"Maybe you can never go back, anyway." He sighed and finally took a cigarette out of the packet he'd been holding, put it in his mouth and lit it before offering Face the pack. "Want one?"

Face looked at the pack for a moment, then gave a sort of cynical half-laugh under his breath as he took a cigarette. But he didn't say anything.

"What's funny?"

Murdock flicked his lighter and held it out for Face to use, leaning up on his other elbow to do so. Face leaned into the lighter, then sat all the way up once the cigarette was lit, shifting his rifle as he pulled his knees up and hunched over them. "You know, ever since that first argument in Nha Trang, you've been a real pain in the ass."

Murdock snorted. "But you love me anyways." He grinned and then froze as he caught the words coming out of his mouth. "I didn't mean that."

Face turned and looked at him as he dragged on his cigarette. He was damn near paranoid. And given the bruises that had yet to fade completely away, he sure as hell had reason to be. After a long moment, Face looked away again. "Tell me something, Murdock."

"Anything."

Face leaned back, supporting his weight on one arm as he rested the other on his knees, cigarette between his fingers. "Why did it matter so much to you?"

"It? You mean us? When we…?" Murdock took a deep breath, trying hard not to squirm. "Or what? Sorry, man, I don't get what you're asking, here."

Face sighed and shook his head. "Murdock, I don't give a shit about that. I never did."

"About what?" Murdock swallowed. "What was that?"

Face studied him silently for a long moment. There was pain in his eyes. Confusion and a need to understand. Face took another long drag and reached up to massage the bridge of his nose. "Look, sometimes stuff just… comes out wrong."

Right now, he didn't have a better explanation than that, although Murdock's long silence begged for one. "So… what was it that came out wrong?"

Face sighed. "What do you want me to say, Murdock?"

"I don't know."

Face hesitated for a long moment, dragging again on his cigarette, then looked up and met Murdock's gaze. "You never answered my question."

"About what?"

"Why it mattered."

Head lowered, Murdock shrugged. "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean me."

Face was surprised by how raw it felt to say those words. It seemed like a simple question. It had sounded simple in his head. But hearing it - his own words, his own voice... that was another matter altogether. Murdock had been through _hell _over this. Determined to find that friendship if it killed him. And it nearly had. As much as Face didn't want to dwell on it - as much as he chose not to - Murdock was probably the only person in his entire life that had shown him something so... unconditional.

"Why do I bother with you?" Murdock laughed, but it held no humor. "Jesus, Face. Sometimes I think you never had a friend in your life."

Face didn't respond. Murdock sighed and rubbed his hand over his face, then pulled himself into a sitting position. He stared at his own knees for a while, smoking deeply. "I like you, Face. It was... I don't think it was anything you did, but you just clicked for me. Friendship was important to me because you were."

"I never did anything to encourage that."

"Oh, I know." Another dry laugh. "And that was kinda part of it. I wanted to be someone you didn't feel you had to... pretend with. And for. You should be just a kid, Face. And you're not. I figure that happened long before 'Nam, but…" He shook his head, realizing as Face stared at him that he was rambling.

"Sometimes you - I - meet someone," he continued quietly, "and it's like... I can't say it's like I knew you all my life, 'cause still don't think I know you. I just trusted you. I get that you didn't feel anythin' but you didn't hafta be my friend for me to be yours. Some things are just... fate. There's a person you're just meant to know and be willing to go to hell and back with. And for. This team - and especially you - it... felt right. And fighting for it felt right. I just went with my gut. I don't know how else to say it."

Face turned and stared at his feet, the mud and grass and blood and god-knows-what-else that had he didn't even bother cleaning off anymore. "I see friends... a little different than you do," he admitted. "What you're talking about isn't a friend. It's family. And no, I've never had that. I told you that a long time ago."

"Now see, you say things like that and I just wanna give you a big ol' hug."

Face sighed. "Please don't."

"I've had friends that were closer than anything I call family. But maybe I also had a weird family. Friendship is thicker than blood."

Face sighed deeply and drew his legs in, crossing them in front of him. He rubbed absently at the corrugated tin, still warm from the day's heat even though the sun had been down for hours. "Yeah, well, I never had family, either. So I really couldn't tell you."

"You never had anybody?" Murdock pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a drink. "I don't expect you to actually answer that. I just don't know how you survived."

Face took in a slow deep breath, and let it out in a sigh. He took a second with the cigarette in his lips, and let the smoke pass through his nose. "There were people who cared. Priests and nuns." He glanced up at the sky again. "I had a father figure. A dozen mothers, at least. But it was never..." He shook his head, unable to explain. "It's not what you think of when you say family. And the kids I grew up with... They weren't either."

"You grew up in a church home?"

"Catholic orphanage."

"God..." Murdock leaned forwards over his own legs, curled up like a pretzel.

Face shrugged. "I told you before, my mother dropped me off there when I was five. I don't really remember it - or her - but as vague as it is, it's still the first thing I do remember. From what they told me later - what happened when I first got there and I was," he took a deep breath and held it, "detox-ing - there's probably a good reason why I don't remember."

Murdock was staring at him. "You can do that? Just… forget things?"

He glanced at Murdock out of the corner of his eye and let out a long, slow breath. "You don't have to. The mind will do it on its own. Protect itself. Knowing that is what makes me not want to know the things I don't remember."

"Yeah, but… if it's your family."

"I don't have family," Face said flatly.

"Aw, come on, Facey." Clearly it hurt him to hear those words. "At the very least, you got family now. You got the team, right?"

"I try not to think of the team like family. Any time we set down, any one of us could be gone without any last words."

Murdock shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, but… it's all we got, right?" He looked around at the camp, then reached over, grabbed Face's shoulder and squeezed, leaving his hand there. "You guys are all I've got."

Face looked at his hand, then looked away. "I had a friend I got... attached to," he said hesitantly. He took one last drag from his cigarette, then put it out and immediately wished for something to do with his hands. "I swore I'd never do it again."

"Oh, God, man. I'm sorry. I wish I'd known."

Face chuckled. "Like it would've made a difference?" With a slight smirk, he raised a brow at Murdock.

"I'd still have wanted to be your friend. But I might not have expected you to ever become mine."

Face cut his gaze away again. "Kinda defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"

"Nah. That's the point. I ain't looking for nothin' from you. I just wanted to _give _you somethin'. Y'know?"

Face was quiet for a long moment. He turned, studied Murdock for a long moment, then looked away. "I'm sorry."

Murdock stubbed out his cigarette and flicked the butt off the roof. "What the hell for?" Murdock's confusion was utterly honest.

"For how it ended."

Murdock's face fell, and he lowered his eyes away. "It ain't over yet, Facey."

"You know that I mean."

Murdock didn't respond.

Face took a deep, slow breath. "I don't know... what you wanted." He pulled at the ties on the bottom of his fatigues, tying and untying them nervously, twisting them. Finally, he shot a quick glance at Murdock. "But I know that wasn't it. And what happened to you..." He lowered his head again as he looked away. "If anything, it should've happened to me."

"No," Murdock said flatly. "You don't get to do that."

Face glanced at him.

"You didn't force me or anything. It happened."

"It shouldn't have."

"Yeah, but it did. And, much as I wish there hadn't been any fall out, I'd rather it had been me than you."

"Everybody wishes that. Doesn't make it right." Face leaned forward, holding the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "And anyway, that's not that point."

"Then what is?"

Face took a deep, slow breath, but didn't look up. "I know I've said a lot of things that..." He sighed, exasperated, and dropped his hands as he tipped his head back, looking at the sky again. Shit, how was he supposed to say this?

"It's okay. Just say it." Murdock shrugged. "I can guarantee I've heard worse."

Face sighed. "It doesn't mean anything. Not like..." Damn it, he couldn't believe he was explaining this. Or even that he was trying to. He took another slow breath. "I don't know what you're looking for. But I know how to be _that_ kind of friend. That doesn't mean that it means anything at all to me. It doesn't even mean that it's what I want because I really… It doesn't mean anything to me. It's just the way it is."

He wasn't sure if that made any sense at all. But he wasn't about to maintain eye contact long enough to find out. He turned away, and reached for his cigarettes. His chest was tight with how difficult those words had been to get out.

He heard Murdock take a deep breath. He held it for a minute and let it out slowly. "Let me see if I can get this right," he started hesitantly. "You thought I needed something from you. You know how to do casual sex, so you thought casual sex was a good idea?"

Face was trying hard not to squirm. He didn't like those words. They were too... blatant. "It's not casual sex. It's not _about _sex, damn it." He was irritated, but not at Murdock. He was frustrated as hell at his own inability to make the words make sense. He grabbed a cigarette and hunched over as he lit it.

"So, it was… what? You saying you cared?"

Face sighed. It was more than that, but that was as close an explanation as he was probably going to get. "I can't explain it, Murdock."

"It's okay." Murdock hesitated. "So that wasn't the answer, but I don't think either of us knew what the question was. It's okay. Bad calls happen."

Face dropped the pack of cigarettes on the tin roof beside him and took a long drag. "It's just..." He let the smoke out slowly, and shut his eyes, hesitating for a long moment after it was out. "I'm sorry. That's my point. You didn't do that; I did. And you didn't deserve... what happened to you."

"Maybe not. But I don't think Cruiser deserved it either."

Face could feel the coldness settle over him at the mention of Cruiser's name. "Trust me. Cruiser deserved it."

Murdock sighed. "It's not for his sake I say that. It's for Hannibal's."

Face didn't answer.

"You know... I don't agree with what you did, exactly. But I do appreciate it."

"It wasn't about you," Face said coldly. He paused for a long drag, and lowered his voice further. "Not in the end."

Murdock turned toward, worry and shock written on his face in equal measure. "He went after _you_?"

Face hesitated a moment, keeping his eyes lowered away. "In a manner of speaking."

He glanced up at Murdock briefly and saw the look of confusion on his face.

"I was pissed because of what he did to you. But it escalated because of what he said to me." He looked away. "And I'd just as soon leave it at that."

"Sure. What a fuck up situation all round." Murdock sighed deeply and pulled the flask out again. "Drink?"

Face took it gratefully. He took a drink, then sighed as he handed it back. "I know it doesn't mean anything to you because you don't want to acknowledge that I did anything wrong. But I really am sorry about... all of it. If nothing else, I said a lot of things - did a lot of things – and went out of my way to make them hurt. Whether or not you want to acknowledge that is beside the point. I did it. And I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," Murdock said quietly. He took a long swallow from the flask. "What about Hannibal?"

Face shifted uncomfortably. "What about him?"

"Have you squared things with him?" Murdock frowned. "His team's kinda falling apart. I don't think that's gone over well."

"We haven't talked about it." Face hunched forward, lifting the cigarette to his lips again.

"You gonna?" Murdock took another swallow of liquor and offered the flask again.

Face sighed audibly and took it. "Hell, I wouldn't even know what to say to him at this point."

"But you will, though, right? He's got a right to know."

"You were the one who wanted to keep it from him."

Murdock shifted into a more comfortable position. "I just want the team to come together again," he admitted quietly.

Face licked his lips slowly. Of course Murdock wanted that. But somehow, it sounded like some sort of fucked up fairy tale. At this point, the team was damaged beyond repair. Cruiser was gone, and he wasn't coming back. Even if he did, Face knew they wouldn't function as a team together. Not anymore. Too much had changed. Hannibal would know that. He would see it. But when it came down to it, he probably did have some right to know what had happened. It was his team, and his ass on the line with Westman, after all.

Face took a slow breath, and let his eyes slide shut as he nodded slowly. "I'll talk to him."

*X*X*X*

Face stood at a distance, watching the silent figure that was sitting in the mud, leaned against the sandbag wall outside the hooch. He still wasn't sure what he was doing here; Face had expected to be called to the next camp, not for Hannibal to return and escort them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Face was wondering if it meant something had gone wrong.

Hannibal reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. It was the best – and maybe the only – opportunity Face would have. He approached slowly as Hannibal felt his other pockets. "Need a light?"

Hannibal looked up at him, and the lighter in his outstretched hand. He hesitated, but finally took it, covering the flame with his free hand out of habit and lighting the cigar. By the time he passed the lighter back, Face had seated himself nearby, his own back against the wall and his knees pulled up in front of him. He didn't say anything, and for a long moment, it was silent. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but it was thick. Almost as thick as the wall that stood between them.

Finally, Hannibal sighed, resting his head back on the sandbags, eyes closed. "I'm tired, Face," he admitted softly. Face didn't look at him, didn't respond. Hannibal breathed deeply, and let it out in a heartfelt sigh. "I'm tired and I'm ready to go home."

Face hunched over his knees, watching as he dug the toe of his boot into the mud. "Well, it's about damn time," he said quietly. He glanced over at Hannibal. "As long as I've known you, you've never been able to sit still for more than two days. That'll burn anyone out after so long."

"It's not that," Hannibal answered. But he said nothing more.

Face studied him silently, but decided not to pry. He let it go, and let the silence linger for a few more minutes, watching in the darkness as the night's patrol team passed out through the wire and into the jungle. "So where's home?" he finally asked. "In the States."

"Doesn't much matter. I won't be going back there."

Face nodded slowly. "Where will you go?"

Hannibal paused, as if considering. "I don't know. LA maybe. Miami. Someplace warm."

"No family?"

"No."

Face used his finger to trace designs in the mud, careful not to get it all over his bandages. His palms hurt like hell where the glass had cut. Too many nerves there. Not to mention the excruciating pain of bone shifting on bone…

"What about you, Lieutenant?"

The question caught him off guard. "Huh?"

Hannibal turned his head, studying the younger man for a long, quiet moment. "Where's home?"

Face glanced away, reflecting thoughtfully. "I'm thinking Las Vegas."

"No family?"

"No. No one." He sighed deeply. "I grew up in LA, but there's nothing there for me. Weather's nice, but…" He let his voice trail off.

Hannibal was quiet. After a long pause, Face turned to him again. "You plan on staying in?" he asked quietly. "Or are you tired enough to actually retire?"

Hannibal didn't answer.

Face looked away again with a sigh. It was hard to think about the future as more than just an abstract concept. For so long, they had all conditioned themselves to embrace death as the only possible outcome of their service, it seemed strange to plan a life after the war.

"You've got some pretty thick bandages on your hands."

Face looked down at them. "Bled a lot," he answered quietly.

"Will you be able to hold a weapon?"

"I should be." _At least with one hand…_ He glanced up. "How's Cruiser?"

"You shattered his nose and broke his cheekbone and his jaw in three places. I'm surprised you didn't break your fucking hand."

Face shut his eyes. "Shit…"

Hannibal remained quiet for a long moment, chewing on his cigar. "You're also lucky he isn't pressing charges, Lieutenant. If I were in his shoes, I sure as hell would."

Face opened his eyes to stare at the ground in front of him. "Where are they sending him?" he asked quietly. Those injuries were too extensive to be treated in their camp, and he knew it.

"Japan. And he's already gone."

Face nodded slowly, very carefully considering his thoughts on the matter. "I'm sorry," he finally said, so low it was barely audible.

"Hell of a lot of good it does him now."

"Not for him," Face clarified. He glanced up, and caught Hannibal's eye. "For you. That I put you in this position."

Hannibal looked away. He was quiet for a long moment before he finally spoke, so low it was barely audible. "I know why you did it."

Face didn't answer.

Hannibal's head lowered as he studied his cigar for a moment. "If you were trying to hide it," he said quietly, "you forgot to clean the back of the chopper."

Face shut his eyes and took a deep breath in, then let it out slow. "I didn't forget," he whispered. "I just didn't have time."

"Well, I don't know what part Cruiser had to play in it." Hannibal set the cigar between his teeth again. "All I know is what I saw in that chopper. But I might've done the same thing in your shoes. Which is not to say that makes it right."

"It doesn't make it fair, either," Face said bitterly. "Murdock didn't do a damn thing to deserve that. Cruiser did. Every fucking bit of it. And I'm not sorry."

"Whether he deserved it or not, Face, if he'd filed charges, I would've followed through with them."

"Do what you've gotta do, Colonel." Face lowered his head as he lit a cigarette and took a long, slow drag. "I won't even fight you on it."

"I just wish you would've let me handle it, kid."

"Why?" Face gave a quick, cynical laugh. "What were you gonna do?" He looked over, his eyes full of anger and skepticism. "You couldn't have proved a damn thing. You couldn't have even formed a case without dragging Murdock through the mud and destroying his career."

"I wouldn't have had to," Hannibal said firmly. "And I would've gotten Cruiser off this team."

"Yeah, well." Face paused and scowled at the ground. "Looks like I saved you the trouble."

Hannibal sighed, and shook his head. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Face," he sighed. "But if you go back to the States like this, you're going to end up killing somebody. And no court is going to be sympathetic to your reasons."

"I know," Face answered, barely a whisper. "I'm working on it."

"You could've killed him."

Face was quiet for a moment. Finally, he looked up and met Hannibal's eye. "If I'd wanted to kill him," he whispered, "I would've done it."

"That's what scares me."

Face held his stare for a long moment, then looked away. "What am I supposed to do about it, Hannibal?" he asked quietly. "You know as well as I do what it feels like. Hell, I don't even look at a man anymore without thinking of how many ways I could kill him."

Hannibal was silent. Finally, he sighed deeply. "I don't have an answer for you, kid," he admitted. "But I think there's a difference between knowing what you're physically capable of… and knowing what you would do."

"I would've had no problem cutting his throat."

"That's the part that needs to change."

"How? How the hell do you regain the fear of taking a life?"

Hannibal looked at him - a steady, calm gaze. "It's not fear. It's respect."

Face studied him for a long moment, then looked away. "Like I said, Hannibal. I'm working on it."

The silence that fell over them was full of unspoken words. Finally, Face remembered why he'd come out here in the first place, and took a few slow, deep breaths as he searched for a way to say it. Eyes trained on the mud as he poked at it with his finger, Face didn't look up as he finally spoke.

"Murdock and I…" He swallowed. Damn it, if there was anything he didn't want to talk about, this was it. "We had a fight."

"Again?" Hannibal's horrified response was instantaneous.

"No," Face chuckled, realizing how Hannibal had heard those words. "No, not again. It's…" He took another deep, calming breath, feeling Hannibal's eyes on him. "It was a few days ago."

Hannibal sighed audibly and held his head in his hand. "Face…"

"It was just an argument," Face clarified. "But it was… Cruiser walked in and… misunderstood."

Hannibal looked up again, watching him and waiting for more. Face hesitated. "Cruiser misunderstood what was happening and he uh…" His chest was tight, and he found himself pausing for a breath before he'd even finished his sentence. "He talked about it… Somewhere to someone… He didn't use discretion."

Finally, Hannibal turned his head away. Face could literally feel the weight of his stare lift. "That's what got Murdock beat up," he continued quietly. "I don't know if he's talked to you at all about it but…" He choked, and shifted uncomfortably. "That's why he wasn't with us for that last drop."

"I figured that out from the bruises," Hannibal answered quietly. "I'm not a complete idiot."

"Did he talk about it at all?"

"No," Hannibal answered quietly. "He wouldn't."

"Well, he's…" Face sighed deeply. "I'll let him deal with that. It's not really my place. I just wanted to tell you because… that's what this was all about." He glanced up, and caught Hannibal's gaze briefly before looking away. "It was about Murdock. And about me."

Hannibal concentrated on the fence that wound around the camp as the space between them grew silent again. After several long, quiet minutes, he finally spoke again. "Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

Face hesitated, then shook his head. "No," he answered confidently. "But if there was," he looked Hannibal in the eye, "would you really want to know?"

"Maybe." He chewed on his cigar, eyes locked on the young lieutenant. "Guess that depends on what it is."

Face sighed and looked away. "I take it you heard the rumor, too."

"I didn't hear your name in it," Hannibal granted. "But I figured."

"Would it matter, Hannibal?" Face challenged, his voice suddenly more sure than it had been since he'd sat down and started this conversation. "If it was true, would it make one damn bit of difference? To you?"

Hannibal studied him for a moment, then turned his eyes back to the camp perimeter with a sigh. "You're a damn good soldier, Face," he finally offered. "Only a fool would deny that."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I wouldn't like it," Hannibal answered abruptly. "But I don't like that you just beat the hell out of my medic, either. Or that trouble seems to just find you every time I let you out of my sight. But you're not here because I like you. You're here because you're good."

Face straightened noticeably. Hannibal watched him shut down as if he'd just flipped a switched. His jaw set and his eyes darkened, and the wall between them that had been slowly crumbling suddenly found reinforcements. Hannibal sighed and looked away. "Look, when it comes right down to it, Lieutenant, you're here because you're the best. And that's what I care about. If what you do on your personal time interferes with that, then you bet your ass I care about it. If it doesn't, then I don't see how it's any of my business. Or Cruiser's."

Face was silent for a long moment. Finally, Hannibal heard him speak, so low he could barely make out the words. "There's nothing with me and Murdock," he informed. "It was just a misunderstanding."

Hannibal nodded slowly. "Is he okay?"

"To fly? No." Face took another drag from the cigarette. "But he'll tell you that he is."

"What all is wrong with him?"

"His shoulder was dislocated, he's got two broken fingers and a broken nose and at least three cracked ribs – possibly more." Face's voice wavered a bit. "He wouldn't even go to the dispensary and let them look at him."

"Why didn't you at least come to me?"

"I tried. He didn't want any part of it." Face paused for a long moment. "Look, Hannibal, my advice? For what it's worth?" He finished his cigarette and put it out in the mud, then rested his head back against the wall behind him. "Let it go. He wants to pretend like nothing happened, like you don't know. He's not stupid, he knows that you do. But if you bring it up, you're only going to humiliate him."

"You realize that pretending everything is okay means putting him at the controls again. I don't know if I'm willing to take that risk."

"I'm not either. Just make sure Snap is on the right side."

"Snap is being reassigned." Hannibal glanced up and locked eyes with Face briefly. "Per his request."

"Shit…" Face shook his head as he looked away. He'd forgotten about that. "Then find another right-side pilot."

Hannibal sighed deeply. For a long moment, he was quiet. Then, finally, he withdrew the cigar from between his teeth again. "It's over, Face."

Face blinked, surprised and confused. "What's over?"

"Westman wants to know what's going on. And he has a right to know." Hannibal's eyes lowered to the ground as he shook his head. "In the past two weeks, my senior pilot crashed a chopper into the Bong Son River for no apparent reason. My junior pilot wrote up a falsified report, then quit the team. My XO signed that report knowing it was complete bullshit. My medic started rumors that are now running all over Nha Trang about Murdock and believe me, Westman _will _hear them sooner or later. My radio operator got into a fistfight with a full colonel – which you didn't even hear about because you were too busy beating Cruiser within an inch of his life. You're telling me now that Murdock can't fly and I'm inclined to agree. All of this is not to mention that we haven't had a truly successful mission in almost a month."

"They haven't given us anything feasible that we could –"

"That never mattered before," Hannibal cut him off. He turned and looked Face in the eye. "It's over, kid." He sighed deeply, leaned forward, and put his head in his hands. "And I am so goddamn tired."

Face stared at him, shocked by what he was hearing. That sounded almost like defeat. Was that really what he was saying? He was really giving up? "So what are we supposed to do now?" he asked, still stunned.

"I'm going to finish my tour in an office in Saigon. You can go back to CCN if you've still got it in you. You're good at it; we both know that."

Face's jaw was slack. "Just like that?"

Hannibal nodded solemnly. "Yeah, Face. Just like that."

Face swallowed hard. Without thought, he lit another cigarette and turned his head away, letting it slowly sink in. "So when does all this happen?"

"We've got one more mission Westman already promised us on. As soon as we come back, we report directly to him for reassignment."

"One more mission," Face repeated quietly. "For who?"

"Morrison."

Face let out his breath in a hiss. "I can't stand him."

Hannibal didn't answer.

"So what's the mission?"

"I don't know." Hannibal sighed, and let his eyes slide closed as he put his head back against the wall behind him. "Something or another up in Hanoi."


	36. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

**1981**

Two very tired children barely made it up the steps to their rooms. Too big to carry and too young to fully wake up on the way from the car, they stumbled up the stairs, down the hall, and to their respective bedrooms before crawling into bed with their shoes still on. There was nothing inherently wrong with that, in Face's mind, and he watched with amusement as Jessica slipped into James' room to help him take off his shoes. She let him keep the rest of his clothes, probably because he was crawling under the sheets before his shoes even hit the floor.

Face stood in the doorway. He had no role in this sort of thing, and no real reason to be here. It was curiosity alone that kept him in place, quietly observing the real life enactment of mother and young son. When she kissed the boy's forehead and turned out the light on the bedside table, Face was pretty sure he was already asleep. Why make those gestures when he wasn't even awake to notice?

"He's going to sleep like a rock," Jessica whispered as she came closer to the door. She grinned. "I think we wore them out."

"Good."

"Their birthday's coming up next weekend. You think you might be around?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe."

"Well, if you are, I'm sure they'd love to have you. It won't be a big deal, just pizza and a couple of their friends. But if you wanted to stop by…" She finished with a shrug.

He stepped back, watching her as she pulled the bedroom door closed, leaving it open just a crack. She pushed her hand back through her hair. "It is kind of late." She eyed him for a moment. "If you wanted to stay, the couch folds out."

He shook his head. "No, thank you. I have a place to go."

She smiled. "Okay."

He glanced back into the room through the crack in the door. He found himself frowning at the silent figure sleeping there. "Jessica, do me a favor."

"Hmm?"

He dragged his eyes off the boy and back onto her. "For their sake, keep Cruiser at a distance."

She blinked, startled. "What do you mean?"

"If he wants to talk to me, you can tell him I'm available anytime. But keep him away from your kids."

She stared at him for a moment, then laughed tightly. "That's funny."

"Why?"

"Because he said the same thing about you."

Face stared at her, unflinching. "He may be right about that, too. Ultimately, it's your call. But I'm asking you, as a friend, to not give him access to them. The fact that he's kept in touch with you all these years…" He sighed. "It would just make me feel better."

"I wouldn't bring him around the kids. But honestly, I'm more worried about you." She lowered her eyes. "That whole fugitive thing doesn't sit well."

"I can handle Cruiser," he said firmly. "But I'd rather he wasn't anywhere near you or the kids. Or Murdock. Whatever he wants on him… it's none of his business."

She studied him for a long moment, then nodded quietly. "I think for now I'd rather just keep him away from everyone I care about. It sounds like whatever happened between you two, it wasn't good."

"No," he agreed quietly. "It wasn't."

*X*X*X*

It was almost midnight when the phone rang. Murdock probably should've been asleep, but he wasn't really tired. Probably a good thing. There were only a limited number of people who would call him, and usually not this late unless there was a reason for it. Turning the volume on the TV down, he picked up the phone without taking his eyes off of the screen. "Hello?"

"Hey, Murdock." Face sounded tired. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Nope," Murdock answered lightly. "There's an all night Stooge Fest on channel 22, I'm in it for the long haul."

"Okay. Good."

Murdock paused, and the bed springs squeaked loudly as he turned to lay flat on his stomach, still watching the black and white screen. "You gonna be springing me for a mission?"

He didn't really think that was the case. Face would have just called in the morning, or shown up. Whatever had Face calling him late at night and sounding like he needed to sleep for a week, it wasn't about getting Murdock out of the VA. But it was a safe bridge to whatever was bothering Face.

"Probably soon, but that's not why I'm calling." He paused for a long moment. "Murdock, have you heard anything from Cruiser?"

Murdock's attention was suddenly diverted from Larry, Moe and Curly. Of all the thing he was thinking a midnight call could be about, Cruiser wasn't one of them. His confusion was echoed in his reply. "Cruiser?"

"Yeah. Has he tried to call you or anything?"

There was a vague feeling of uneasiness settling over him. Try as he might, Murdock couldn't put his finger just why. Maybe it was the combination of the timing, the hesitance and Face's question. That, and the fact that Murdock couldn't even remember saying good bye to Cruiser. He continued hesitantly, cautiously trying to figure out what exactly was going on.

"Nah, I haven't heard from him since we were overseas." There was a brief pause. "Why? Should I be expecting to?"

"I don't know. Apparently he got in touch with a friend of mine, asking about me. I just wanted to know if you'd heard anything. You're easier to find than I am and I thought maybe he'd try."

There was the strange feeling again. Face was worried. Not only could he hear it, Murdock could almost feel it coming over the phone line.

"You don't sound real happy about the idea of an old war buddy looking you up, Face."

There wasn't judgment in that; hell, he didn't understand enough to judge. It was just a fact. Face and Cruiser had been tight back then. And Cruiser had hooked up with Hannibal before any of them. It had long been in the back of Murdock's mind to wonder why he wasn't with them now. Or at least in contact.

"I'm not too thrilled about _anybody _looking me up, to be honest." Face paused. "Just do me a favor. If you do hear from him, will you call me right away?"

Murdock frowned at the phone. Something was very wrong when Face couldn't pull of a convincing casual tone. He felt like he was taking a pop quiz and he hadn't read the book. "What's going on, Face?"

Flashes of memories ran though his mind at lightning speed. Fireworks and laughter, warm beer and crude jokes, a quiet little village and the meal the chief's wife was making. It would be the last thing she ever did. Cruiser with a little boy hanging on his neck. Rats and darkness. Bangkok and dress down. All of them curled together in a tiny hole, hiding from the VC.Closing his eyes, Murdock forced his mind back to the present.

"It's nothing to worry about, Murdock. Just tell me you'll call. Please?"

It was the please that got Murdock. And the fact that Face meant it. "Sure Face," was out of his mouth without a thought. As much as he wanted to know what was going on, he didn't have it in him to listen to that tone from Face. Nothing was worth that.

After a brief pause he let out a dry chuckle. "But if it was nothing to worry about, you wouldn't be calling me." It was just a statement of fact.

Face laughed. "Is that your way of saying I need to call more often?"

Face was trying to change the subject. And even that wasn't up to his usually seamless standards. "Well, you should call more often."

He paused for a second and licked his lips. When he spoke again, there was an unusual amount of seriousness and hesitance. "But actually, that was my way of asking what happened. Because I don't remember. But I know if you're suddenly worried enough about him looking you up to call me in the middle of the night, it probably wasn't very good."

"Nothing happened." Face sighed audibly. "Cruiser went his way and I went mine. It's not something I'm willing to talk about."

There was silence while Murdock considered what Face had and hadn't said. There was more to it, but nothing Murdock could say would get Face to talk about it. And did he even have any right to push it? It was Face's life and he had the right to decide what he would and wouldn't talk about. Murdock understood that. But then, why did it feel like a personal rejection?

_"__You're in a psych ward, Mark. What in the hell makes you think you can help him."_ He shut his eyes to block out the familiar, taunting voice in his head. _"They won't even let you have a butter knife in this joint, and you think he's gonna expect you to help him?"_

"Man, Moe could throw a mean pie," Murdock said, changing the subject quickly to silence that voice in his head. "Maybe we could have BA make us some kind of 'pie gun' for our next trip. I bet Hannibal would get a kick out of it."

Face chuckled again, and was quiet for a moment. "If Hannibal doesn't have a mission by this weekend, I'll come get you out for a night or two. Okay?"

It was a peace offering, probably an obligation he felt. Face was good at feeling guilty, whether or not he had a reason to. "Ah, come on, Facey. Like you couldn't get a date for the weekend? You gonna break the ladies' hearts if you do that. I don't know if I could live with the overwhelming guilt. Besides, its macramé weekend here, I don't wanna miss that. I had big plans for making BA some macramé jewelry."

It was all a lie; a cover up for the fact he needed time to push back the sudden onslaught of doubt, worry and insecurities. None of the team needed to see him like that. Least of all Face, who clearly had more important things on his mind. I was best to cut him free, give him an out. A way to enjoy a well deserved weekend off, however he saw fit.

"I'll be there at ten, if you don't hear from me before then. You can do macramé another week. Besides, I've been thinking about taking a road trip up the coast, and you love doing that."

Murdock smiled involuntarily. He loved driving up the Pacific coast highway. Something about being that close to where the land gave way to the ocean and sky, both of them going on for as far as he could see. It always made Murdock feel like he was flying. Just going any way they felt like, doing whatever struck their fancy, however they felt like doing it. They could be real people for a little while.

"Have a good night, Murdock."

He could feel a smile broaden, and some of the clawing uneasiness faded. Face had been given and out, and he was still going to be here. Maybe he needed a break too. "I got the Three Stooges playing for the next ten hours. How could I have anything but a good night?"

Maybe instead of hiding in his room feeling sorry for himself, relaxing with his friend was a better idea. For both of them. Murdock could try and find out about Cruiser another time. Maybe it would help him to remember that today was just as important as the past was. Maybe even more so, because there was something he could do about the present and the future.

"Get some sleep, Face, okay?" Murdock sighed as he felt the tension slowly ease away. "Lord knows you've earned it."

**A/N: Next book is called "The Last Word" and will begin posting sometime in the next few weeks. Thanks for reading, guys, and a special thanks for the input that helped me decide how to end this book!**


End file.
